Halo: Wastelands
by M306117
Summary: In 2552, a UNSC frigate drops out of Slipspace near Earth to find it has been ravaged by nuclear war and is attacked by a UFO in orbit over the planet. In need of parts and answers, they send a Spartan supersoldier to the Pentagon to find them.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter One

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**Slipstream space – unknown coordinates near Sol Star System. 0539 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The bridge was uncharacteristically quiet as Captain Jonathan McNeal stepped inside, smoothing a few wrinkles from his service uniform. He looked over the room, frowning slightly at the lack of crew present, then made his way towards the command chair and eased himself down into it.

'Sasha. Situation update, please.' McNeal leaned back and shifted, trying to comfortable in the well worn seat. As he spoke, a nearby holotank hummed into life and the translucent image of a woman appeared. She was Sasha, the smart AI assigned to the _Heavy Hitter, _and like every other AI in the UNSC she had a unique avatar. McNeal had worked with one whose chosen image was reminiscent of a Viking warrior, whilst another had resembled Marine in full combat gear complete with holstered pistol.

But Sasha had settled on a simple design, a white jumper over dark trousers, and her personality matched it almost perfectly. Many smart AIs had quirky personalities, a result of their high degree of sophistication, but not her. Instead she was mostly quiet, even when interacting with the crew, and had a facial expression of bored disinterest to match.

'All systems operating normally and we will be dropping back into normal space within thirty minutes, plus or minus five minutes.' Sasha announced. 'Weapon safeties engaged, MAC gun capacitors at zero charge.' Her avatar folder it's arms across her chest, Sasha's usual stance when nothing of any interest was happening.

'And the security personnel?' McNeal asked. The _Heavy Hitter _was a Charon-class frigate, suited for supporting ground operations rather than ship-to-ship battles, and was often employed for moving large numbers of Marine forces from planet to planet. There were two companies of them onboard, making for over three hundred in total, alongside two whole platoons of ODSTs and a single Spartan supersoldier.

'Still in cryo. I'll begin the thawing procedure when we transition to normal space.' The AI blew a small strand of hair from her face as the bridge doors slid open, revealing the first of the bridge crew. More than a few of them were rubbing their arms, trying to warm them up after the freezing temperatures of cryo sleep, but they quickly sat down in front of their assigned work stations. McNeal said some small hello to each as they passed.

On navigation was Lieutenant Franks, a recent addition to the crew following the medical discharge of the last navigation officer. He was usually quiet around the others but was slowly becoming more and more confident with each passing day. According to the Lieutenant's file he'd never been in actual combat against the Covenant and aside from simulations back at OCS, this was his first tour where he'd been part of the bridge crew.

Next to Franks, and manning the weapons console, was Lieutenant Donovan. Like his neighbour, Donovan was new to the _Heavy Hitter, _but had served on two other ships before arriving on the frigate. He was more open than Franks, engaging more of the crew in conversation, and had started up several budding friendships with the officers.

The next station, communications, was staffed by Lieutenant Murphy. Unlike Franks and Donovan, he was the only officer who'd served aboard the ship since it had first left Reach, the UNSC's primary naval yard, initially as the commanding officer. But after an incident involving two other naval officers, four Marines and several thousand credits worth of damage to a bar, he'd been forced to take a two-step demotion from Commander back down to Lieutenant. It was only after a heartfelt plea and a long negotiation that he was able to remain on the _Heavy Hitter. _The experience had left Murphy disgruntled and the man was prone to verbally lashing out on bad days.

The last remaining member of the bridge crew, Lieutenant Tyler, was seated in front of ship operations. She was currently on her third tour of duty, hoping to go onto a fourth, and despite seeing dozens of planets glassed and thousands of her fellow naval personnel die, Tyler showed no signs of cracking or snapping. In fact, she was always the most upbeat of the command crew. But given the normally dour atmosphere on the bridge, this wasn't too hard.

'Transition to normal space in five minutes, plus or minus two minutes.' Sasha announced.

'Very well.' McNeal replied, strapping himself into his chair. The rest of the officers did the same, cinching them tight in anticipation.

'Returning to normal space in three, two, one.' The AI counted down, blowing another strand of hair from her face as the ship dropped out of Slipspace and decelerated sharply, throwing all of the crew forward against their restraints. As they did, the forward view screens seemingly snapped on as thousands of stars appeared, replacing the dark and featureless void that was Slipspace.

'Lieutenant Franks, plot a course to Earth. Lieutenant Tyler, bring the reactor to fifty percent.' McNeal ordered, undoing his restraints

'Aye, sir.' Both officers answered at the same time, tapping various commands into their stations. The ship slowly rumbled and tilted as it moved forward and angled towards humanity's home planet.

'Course plotted, ETA to Earth is thirty-two minutes, eight seconds.' Franks announced, sounding happy as he finished typing in the ship's new route. On the communications station, however, Murphy frowned as he tapped in his own commands then slapped the monitor after a few seconds.

'Sir, could you come here for a moment?' he called out, frown deepening. 'I think there's something you'll want to see.' McNeal raised an eyebrow as he looked at the man but stood and made his way over. When he reached Murphy, the Captain peered at his screen.

'Alright, Lieutenant. What am I looking at?' McNeal had never worked as a communications officer, instead he'd been assigned to ship operations. As a result, the screen Murphy was frowning at was mostly a mystery.

'Nothing, sir.' Murphy replied, waving his hand at the screen. 'Absolutely nothing.' He tapped at the keyboard again but the image stayed the same.

'I'm not sure I follow.' McNeal said. 'Why did you call me over to look at nothing?'

'Because there is usually _something _on here, sir.' Murphy pointed at several flat lines. 'These represent the signals of every UNSC channel, the thicker the line, the better the signal. But notice how they're all really thin?' He indicated each line in turn. 'It means we aren't receiving any signals at all, sir.'

'Could it be a problem with the equipment?' McNeal speculated, a frown of his own creeping onto his face.

'No, sir. I triple checked it before we dropped back into normal space and again when I didn't see any signals.' The Lieutenant turned to face McNeal. 'There's nothing wrong with our equipment. It's working fine.'

'So why aren't we getting anything?'

'I don't know, sir.' Murphy turned back to his station and started tapping at the keyboard again. In response, the screen went blank then came back on again as he took it through yet another systems check. 'But what I do know is that we're green across the board.'

'Keep checking, Lieutenant.' McNeal stepped away from him and returned to his chair, sitting back down as the _Heavy Hitter _drew closer to Earth.

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**en route to Earth. 0713 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

McNeal anxiously twiddled his thumbs as the frigate drew closer, a trait shared by the rest of the bridge crew. For the past half an hour Murphy had tried and tried to find any kind of signal, putting the communications stations through dozens of self diagnostics. Each time it had come back as working normally, infuriating the Lieutenant and worrying the others. The feeling had only grown worse when the ship's radar had failed to pick up the presence of any UNSC vessel, mobile or otherwise. To have one piece of faulty equipment was unheard of. To have two separate cases was almost impossible. It made McNeal very nervous.

'Lieutenant Donovan, arm the MAC gun and remove Archer missile safeties.' He ordered. 'I want them ready to fire on a moment's notice.'

'Aye aye, sir.' He quickly tapped in several commands. 'MAC gun charging, Archer missile safeties removed.'

'Plot a slingshot orbit around the planet, Lieutenant Franks.' McNeal added, strapping himself in. 'Lieutenant Tyler, push the reactors to ninety percent. I've got a bad feeling about this.'

'Slingshot orbit plotted.' Franks announced.

'Reactors responding. Coming up to ninety percent now, sir.' Tyler added. The frigate rumbled and accelerated, almost heading straight for the planet before it angled away and presented it's starboard side to the surface.

'Captain, I'm picking up an unusual radiation reading for the planet.' Sasha said, hands on hips. This was her stance for when things got interesting. 'It's almost ten times the normal background count and that's not all.'

'Sir, got a new contact.' Franks yelled as the _Heavy Hitter _flew out of Earth's shadow. 'Unknown classification.'

'Where?' McNeal asked.

'Contact is thirty-eight thousand kilometres distant, bearing zero-three-four.' The navigation officer wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he highlighted the unknown on the forward view screen, zooming in so the bridge could see. 'Sir, it appears to be in a geosynchronous orbit over the eastern coast of America.'

'Is it Covenant?' McNeal asked.

'Negative, Captain.' Sasha answered, overlaying the unknown ship's design over those stored in her memory. Whilst Covenant vessels looked part organic, with flowing lines and an oddly predatory styling, this one was more akin to UFOs from cheesy science fiction films. 'The craft fits no known profile, human or Covenant.'

'Jesus, a whole new alien species?' Murphy muttered. 'Just when I thought life couldn't get any better.'

'Has it tried to communicate?' McNeal wondered, ignoring the communications officer's sarcasm.

'Negative, sir. All channels are clear.' Murphy said. 'Shall I try to message them?'

'Yes. We'll give them three minutes to-' McNeal started to say but Franks cut him off.

'Sir, contact is moving.' He announced.

'To where?'

'Nowhere, sir. It's rotating.' Franks pulled the image of the ship back so the crew could see what he meant. Originally, the vessel had been orbiting with it's flat side parallel to the Earth and presenting a wide target for the _Heavy Hitter _to get a radar image off. Now it had shifted so the thinner edge was pointed at the frigate. From this new angle McNeal could see that there was a smaller disc shape beneath the main body and what appeared to be a small bump of some kind underneath that.

'Sasha, zoom in and enhance on the very bottom of the craft.' He ordered. 'There's something there.'

'Aye, sir. Zooming and enhancing.' Sasha's avatar scrunched her face up as the image centred on the underbelly of the ship and blurred then sharpened. The end result was grainy, but clear enough for them to see a distinctive shape.

'Is that a cannon?' McNeal questioned.

'Possibly.' Sasha replied.

'Energy spike!' Lieutenant Franks yelled. 'Detecting high levels from the contact.' He tapped furiously at his keyboard and the image of the ship zoomed out to what it had been in the first place.

'Can you specify which region?' By now the frigate had closed the distance between it and the unknown ship.

'Energy spike located at the bottom of the ship.' Franks announced, focusing on his screen. 'More specifically, their cannon.'

'Do they have a lock on us?' McNeal looked between the navigation officer and the forward view screen.

'Aye, sir. Contact has acquired target lock.' Murphy announced.

'Weapon status?'

'MAC gun still hot. All Archer missiles primed and ready for launch.' Donovan replied.

'Range to ship?' McNeal and the others either tightened their restraints or put them back on.

'Unknown ship now five thousand kilometres distant.' Franks told him.

'All engines stop, shift to station keeping.' McNeal ordered. 'Sasha, I want us pointed at that thing. Donovan, arm Archer pods A though D and get me a firing solution.' He clicked the intercom. 'All hands, battle stations.'

'Aye aye, sir.' They jumped to their tasks; sweat beading on all their foreheads as the lights on the bridge darkened to a red hue.

'Engines stopped, shifting to station keeping.' Tyler declared.

'Archer pods A through D armed.' Donovan said. 'Firing solution acquired. MAC gun still charged and ready.' There was a small series of rumblings as the manoeuvring thrusters aligned the _Heavy Hitter _so it was directly facing the UFO.

'Ship in position, Captain.' Sasha kept her hands on her hips, staring directly at the view screen. 'We've got them in our sights.'

'Energy levels on contact have spiked again!' Franks yelled. 'Now triple previous levels.' He zoomed back in on the ship's cannon, now glowing a bright green along several lines that terminated at a single point.

'Transfer emergency thruster control to Sasha. If that thing is a weapon, I want to be able to dodge it if it fires.'

'Transferring thruster control to Sasha. Aye, sir.' Franks muttered, intently watching his screen for any change.

'Not that we know exactly when that thing will fire.' She said. 'Provided it _is _a weapon.'

'Call it a hunch.' McNeal countered.

'Very well, sir.' The AI cupped her chin with one hand. On screen the image of the ship's cannon grew brighter as what looked like electricity danced across it's surface. Then, without warning, the light exploded and a thin green ray erupted from the tip and sped towards the frigate. As it did, Sasha detonated the emergency thrusters and blasted the _Heavy Hitter _to port away from the ray in hopes of avoiding the glowing lance of light. Unfortunately, it didn't work and the beam sliced through the starboard engines. A number of alarms blared into life as the ship shook from secondary explosions and started a slow spin.

'Status!' McNeal yelled, gripping the arm rests of his chair tightly.

'Starboard engine has been hit but I can't get a clear picture as to how badly.' Tyler shouted, fighting against the alarms. 'Hull breach on the engineering deck and there's a leak in the starboard fuel tank. Sealing the damaged sections and pumping what I can to the port tanks.'

'Weapon status?'

'MAC still fully charged and Archer pods A through D still locked on.' Donovan announced. 'But I can't fire until we're straight and level.'

'Acknowledged.' The Captain turned to the navigation officer. 'Lieutenant Franks, I want us pointed at that son of a bitch and kept there. If he wants a fight, we'll give him one.'

'Aye aye, sir.' Franks said. 'Countering our spin.' On screen, the stars which had been swirling around stopped as the frigate came to a halt before being replaced by the enemy target.

'Lieutenant Donovan, are we still locked on?'

'Aye aye, sir.' He answered. 'Firing solution ready.'

'Then fire.' McNeal ordered. 'Blow it out of the stars.'

'Pods A through D firing!' There was a series of small thumps as over 120 missiles left the wounded ship and accelerated towards the alien craft. It made no attempt to avoid the incoming missiles or even shoot any down. Instead it just sat there as they impacted across the hull, fire covering nearly every inch of it. For a brief second there was a slivery film wherever the missiles hit but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

'MAC firing!' Donovan shouted as every light on the bridge dimmed a mere second before a white hot streak of metal flew from the prow and slammed into the badly damaged hull of the enemy ship. Unlike the missiles, there was no silvery film as the six-hundred ton slug careered through the metal plating and tore out of the opposite end. Internal explosions blossomed out of the new hole but the crippled craft didn't explode.

'Lieutenant Donovan, arm Archer pods E through H. Identical firing solution.'

'Aye, sir. Arming pods E though H, identical firing solution.' Donovan quickly tapped in the commands then poised his finger over the execute button, awaiting the command to launch.

'Fire.' McNeal said softly. Donovan nodded and pressed the button. Another 120 missiles left the _Heavy Hitter _and flew through the vacuum of space to their intended target, throwing shrapnel and fire up as they made contact. Now the alien vessel finally detonated, exploding into three distinct pieces amongst the thousands of smaller ones and began drifting towards Earth, caught in it's gravity well. The bridge crew watched as they slowly burned up in re-entry before relaxing slightly.

'All hands, secure from battle stations.' McNeal said into the intercom as the last piece vanished from sight. He switched it off and gazed at the planet below, a frown creasing his features. 'Sasha, how sure are you that that's the Earth?'

'Fairly certain, Captain.' She replied, scrunching her face up in concentration. 'All of the other planets are present, the constellations match and the energy output of the Sun is the same. The only things that aren't the same are the background radiation counts and the fact that the Moon is marginally closer to Earth than it should be.

'We are, without a shadow of a doubt, at Earth.' Sasha folded her arms as the bridge fell into a stunned silence.

'We-we can't be.' Tyler whispered. 'There has to be some mistake.'

'There isn't, Lieutenant.' Sasha said. 'That is Earth.' McNeal unclipped himself and stood, walking to the forward view screens.

'If it is, what the hell happened?' He asked. 'And when?'

'Unknown.'

'Then we'd better find out.' McNeal span around and faced the bridge crew. 'I want an expedition organised to go planetside. They're to find out whatever they can about what happened down there, and when.'

'Could they also find a heavy manufacturing plant as well?' Tyler asked, reading something on her screen. 'That beam cut through the starboard engine and caused some kind of electrical feedback which damaged quite a few components, the slipspace drive included.'

'Can't we fix it ourselves?' McNeal sat back down in his chair.

'No, sir. The drive requires parts we either don't have or can't make.' She span in her seat to face the Captain. 'Mostly it's the circuits that control the drive but there are a few other components which need to be replaced. Until then, we can't jump to Slipspace.'

'Not that there's anywhere to go.' Murphy said. 'I can't pick up _any _UNSC signals. HIGHCOM, FLEETCOM, SATCOM. Everything is missing. Which means there is _nothing _broadcasting.'

'One problem at a time, Lieutenant.' McNeal replied. 'First we find out what happened down there, then we find out what happened to us.' He rubbed his face and let out a small breath. 'Lieutenant Franks, put us in orbit over the Eastern Seaboard. We're going in.'


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Two

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**in orbit around Earth. 1203 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Captain McNeal looked up from his computer as the door into his quarters opened, revealing an unusually tall man.

'Lieutenant Commander SPARTAN-B124, reporting as ordered.' He said, performing a crisp salute.

'Come in.' McNeal indicated to the unoccupied chair in front of the small desk inside the room. 'Have a seat.'

'Thank you, sir.' The Spartan quickly sat down in the proffered seat but remained at perpetual attention. McNeal tapped a few items off on his computer then shut the lid, directing his full attention to the man sat in front of him.

B124, or Scott as McNeal had seen on his heavily redacted and classified file, was a Spartan supersoldier and it showed. Scars crisscrossed his face, pale from a lack of sunlight, and the man was easily six foot ten, towering over McNeal and most of the others aboard the _Heavy Hitter. _He even outweighed most of them too at one-hundred-and-twelve kilos.But that wasn't the only defining feature of the Spartan. His eyes were a piercing ice blue and held a mixture of wariness and distrust, regarding anyone and everyone as a potential hostile. The fact he never seemed to blink as well was unsettling.

'I'm not sure what you've heard, Commander, but we're in an unusual position.' McNeal said.

'Unusual, sir?' Scott repeated. The Captain nodded, a grim look on his face. 'How?'

'For starters, we can't pick up any kind of UNSC signal on the communication system. Then we encountered an alien craft of unknown origin and the Earth is, well...' McNeal trailed off, searching for the right words. 'Wrong. It's wrong.'

'I don't understand. How can the Earth be wrong, sir?' The Spartan frowned slightly as McNeal let out a weary sigh.

'It just is.' He turned to a small holotank set into the desk. 'Sasha, could you help explain what happened?' The device hummed into life, revealing the AI's avatar.

'I'll try, Captain.' She said, before turning to face Scott. 'Scans of the planet have revealed a multitude of inconsistencies compared to what the Earth should be, most notably the background radiation count and the atmospheric concentrations.' Sasha activated the wall mounted screen and displayed a graph of some kind composed of two different colours, one red and one blue.

'The blue line represents what a normal reading of the Earth's atmosphere should be.' Sasha continued, highlighting the line in question. It went up and down, showing the various concentrations that made up the atmosphere. 'And this is what it currently is.' The red was overlaid on top of the blue line. Scott saw that the carbon and soot levels were nearly triple, if not quadruple, what they should be.

'Heavy pollutants, such as ash and soot, make up the majority of the differences.' The AI folded her arms and tapped her foot, a stance McNeal hadn't seen too often but knew it meant Sasha had discovered something. Something unsettling. 'As for the high radiation count, I've created a number of programs that allow me to simulate the Earth's climate and predict what various actions will do to it, both short and long term.' She unfolded her arms and looked directly at the two men.

'I've run these predictions hundreds of times, factoring in everything from unexpected solar flares to catastrophic global warming to a full Covenant glassing, but there was only one simulation that came anywhere close to replicating that.' Sasha pointed at the screen and it shifted to show the Earth as it should be. 'Full scale nuclear war between multiple, if not all, nations on Earth.'

The image became a video as multiple flashes of light appeared on the surface of the planet. Both McNeal and Scott watched silently as the clip played, the surface of Earth slowly becoming what it was now: a dreary brown desert.

'It's not possible.' McNeal whispered when the image finally froze. 'There must be another explanation.'

'There isn't, Captain.' Sasha turned the screen off. 'I'm sorry.' McNeal covered his mouth with his hands, staring bleakly at the Spartan who just sat there, face a neutral mask. For several minutes they remained in silence until McNeal spoke.

'Sasha, can you confirm the presence of cities and other structures on the surface?' He took his hands away and leant back, glancing between Scott and the AI.

'Yes, Captain.' She replied. 'It was one of the things I checked to confirm that was Earth.'

'Can you tell if UNSC HIGHCOM facility A-17 is still down there?' Sasha activated the screen again and brought up a grainy picture of a city, highlighting a single section and enhanced it.

'UNSC HIGHCOM facility A-17 located, sir.'

'Good.' McNeal turned to Scott. 'Because you're going down there, Spartan. Find and access any records you can then report them. Understood?'

'Yes, sir.' Scott replied.

'Then go gear up. We'll be dropping you in within the hour.'

'Will I be going in alone, sir?' he asked, making McNeal give an unhappy nod.

'We don't know _exactly_ what the atmosphere is like down there but your suit should be able to filter any toxins out.' McNeal explained. 'If not, switch to your internal supply and radio for a Pelican to pick you up. But until we know for sure what the air is like, you'll be by yourself.' He looked down for a second. 'I'm sorry.'

'I understand, sir.' Scott said, saluting as he came to attention. McNeal returned it and the Spartan left.

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**in orbit around Earth. 1236 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The door slid open as Scott pressed the last number on the keypad, unveiling what he called his quarters. It was sparsely furnished, containing only three beds, but that wasn't what he was interested in at the moment. Set against the wall were three Plexiglas mannequins and on the middle one was a full set of MJOLNIR Mark V armour, finished in a dull matte grey. Scott walked up to the empty suit and traced a finger over it's surface.

'Hello again, friend.' He murmured softly. The armour was a masterpiece of human engineering. Capable of augmenting a Spartan's already impressive physical abilities, it could project a recharging energy shield that covered him fully and support a ship-borne AI like Sasha. The end result meant Spartans were much more durable and could receive intelligence whilst in the field, making them even more lethal. Scott looked into the black visor of the helmet then stepped away towards a portable holotank set up on one of the beds, tapping the top of it. The projector flickered into life.

'Naptime's over, Tara. Time to wake up.' Scott sat down on the next bed and began to disrobe. An image of a woman wearing jeans and a lab coat appeared above the small holotank.

'Initiating system start-up.' The woman patted herself down, smoothing out a series of wrinkles in her clothes. 'System online. Greetings, Lieutenant Commander.'

'Tara.' Scott said as he folded away his uniform. Tara, like Sasha, was an AI. But unlike Sasha, she was what the UNSC classified as a dumb AI. Compared to the smart variety, dumb AIs weren't capable of learning anything outside their specific function. Whilst this limited them to performing a single task, it meant they could live far longer than smart AIs who were legally required to be retired after seven years. In this case, Tara had been programmed for infiltrating computer systems and other secure areas.

'Internal chronometers show that it has been five weeks, three days since we last spoke.' She announced, turning to follow Scott as he returned to the MJOLNIR armour. 'I trust the Slipspace journey was uneventful?'

'It was.' He replied. 'But what happened afterwards wasn't.' The Spartan stopped in front of the armour and reached up for the helmet. Although the MJOLNIR armour was designed to deal with a variety of different scenarios, it could be modified to better deal with others. Almost everything on it was interchangeable to suit a Spartan's requirements and Scott had swapped the helmet from the standard model for a K variant outfitted with additional armour on the brow and a command network module. Aside from this, and a single multi-threat left shoulder, Scott's armour was entirely standard.

'I don't-' Tara began to say but paused, glancing off into the distance as she accessed the ship's recent records. 'I see what you mean, Commander.'

'Yeah.' He set the helmet down on the floor and started to disassemble the rest of the armour ready to put it on. 'And we've been tasked with finding out why the Earth is like it is.'

'Ah.' The AI refocused her attention back on Scott. By now he had started to don the armour, a difficult task without help. 'Coordinating with Sasha to obtain detailed satellite maps of the area.'

'Good.' He grunted, pulling on the bodysuit. 'If I'm going in alone, I want as much info as possible.' Scott momentarily paused as he stared sadly at the two empty mannequins, shaking his head. Tara caught the subtle motion. Before jumping to Earth, Scott had been part of a Spartan fire-team attached to a battle group in orbit over the colony of Leon, a distant Inner Colony suffering from a Covenant invasion, and were tasked with holding off an advancing enemy until the civilians could be evacuated. They were successful in their mission but Scott was the only one of the three to survive relatively unscathed. One Spartan had died whilst the other was hanging by a thread aboard the UNSC _Hopeful._

'Of course, Commander.' Tara said. Her avatar watched as Scott finished pulling the bodysuit on and reached for the first part of the external plating.

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**in orbit around Earth. 1301 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The deck thudded under the heavy footfalls of Scott, now clad in full MJOLNIR armour, as he marched towards the _Heavy Hitter'_s HEV launch room. Accompanying him was Captain McNeal, feeling decidedly insignificant next to the fully armoured and armed Spartan warrior.

'We've managed to clear up the overheads of the city and marked out a suitable drop zone for you.' He said. 'It's a little north of the city but there's no other area clear enough.'

'How far away is it from the target?' Scott asked.

'Ten or so miles in a straight line.' McNeal brought out his data pad and activated the device, bringing up a small but clear picture of the city. Scott peered at it. 'Unfortunately, from the looks of things, there's a lot of rubble to get through so a direct route might not be possible. I've uploaded these images to your suit for when you're down there.' The two of them came to a large door that a Marine had scrawled the words 'Hell's waiting room' onto. McNeal made an annoyed noise as he opened them and led the Spartan to a waiting HEV. Scott pulled the hatch open and began stowing his gear. For the operation he had selected an MA5C, the primary firearm of the UNSC, and backed it up with an M6G. When they were in place, the Spartan followed and sat down in the HEV's seat, strapping himself in.

'Radio when you get dirt side, Commander.' McNeal ordered. 'Then proceed to the objective.'

'Yes, sir.' Scott replied. He finished and pulled the last restraint tight. McNeal stepped back and started the launch process, closing the hatch on the HEV automatically. The Spartan nodded through the small window built into the pod's door, receiving one back, just as it was dropped from the ship and began it's descent to the surface below.

**Spartan-B124**_**, **_**in combat drop to surface of Earth. 1334 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott regulated his breathing as the HEV activated it's drag chute, feeling his head snap forward at the sudden deceleration, and braced for the braking rockets that would soon follow.

'Landfall in twelve seconds.' Tara announced coolly in his ear. Scott had uploaded the AI to his armour after he'd finished putting it on. She could tap into nearly every wireless network, secured or not, and use it to aid the Spartans no matter where they were. It had taken Scott a while to get used to hearing her voice come through not just his helmet's speakers, but inside his head as well. 'Activating braking rockets.'

The pod shuddered again as it slowed from a lethal velocity to a survivable one. Scott braced as best he could, picking up his pistol and holding it tightly. A lifetime of training and experience had taught him to always have a weapon close to hand when dropping into unfamiliar grounds, even if it was a UNSC world.

'Touchdown!' Tara yelled a scant second before the HEV hit solid ground and the door was blown off. Scott followed it, pistol raised, and scanned the area for threats. When he was satisfied there weren't any, he holstered it and turned back to the HEV, retrieving the rest of his equipment.

'Start atmospheric analysis.' Scott ordered, pulling out his MA5C. He checked it over for damage and ejected the magazine, visually confirming it held thirty-two rounds, then slapped it back into place.

'Beginning analysis.' Tara said. The MJOLNIR armour had a number of built in sensors that could detect any number differences in the air, enabling the suit to more effectively filter toxins or activate the internal air supply depending on the outside quality. It also had an ARGUS unit for detecting explosive devices.

'Analysis complete.' A small graph appeared in the lower right hand corner of Scott's HUD.

'Care to explain it?' he asked, clipping the first of twenty spare magazines for the MA5C to his armour. They were joined by eight clips for the pistol.

'Atmosphere readings show elevated concentrations of carbon, ash and soot alongside high levels of radiation.' The graph winked off. 'No toxins detected.'

'Good. Send a report to the _Heavy._' Scott checked the pins on a quartet of fragmentation grenades and attached them to his armour. With that, the HEV had been stripped of everything barring the medical supplies and the vast number of MREs. The Spartan pulled out a rucksack and placed them inside it, snapping the clasps shut as he swung it onto his back.

'Now the fun begins.' He muttered, picking his rifle up and holding it across his chest. The Spartan activated the waypoint and orientated himself on it, turning south towards a bombed out and dilapidated ruin of a city. Smoke rose from some parts in thin columns, barely visible in the midday sun, and Scott could swear he heard the familiar clatter of automatic weapons discharging.

'Maybe we aren't the only ones here.' Tara said, voicing the Spartan's thoughts. He just nodded and began walking, rifle held closely.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Three

**Spartan-B124**_**,**_** near outskirts of Washington, DC. 1341 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott kept a steady pace as he walked steadily south, rifle held across his chest, and looked across the terrain. It was bleak, and littered with ruins. To the Spartan's left was a cluster of them, adorned with mushroom cloud graffiti and mutilated skeletons, the flesh having long since rotted off them. To his right, the landscape dropped away as it became a desert littered with the crumbling remains of highways. A murky river ran between the two. The Spartan paused as he traced it's path with his eyes, then frowned.

'Something's not right.' He muttered.

'What do you mean?' Tara asked. Scott's frown deepened as he continued to stare at the river.

'I don't know.' He eventually answered. 'It's just a funny feeling. Like there's something we got wrong before coming down here.' Scott watched the river for a second longer then turned away, carrying on south along an old road.

'Sasha's predictions were accurate, Commander.' Tara said with a hint of a challenge in her voice. AIs could be protective of their intellect and didn't like being proven wrong. 'She took into account every variable imaginable and reran them several dozen times.'

'I know.' Scott said. 'But I still feel that we're missing something.' He shook his head and activated the communication system on the MJOLNIR armour. '_Heavy Hitter, _this is SPARTAN-B124, do you copy?'

'_SPARTAN-B124, this is the _Heavy Hitter. _We copy you.' _The transmission was static-laden and choppy, but Scott could still identify the voice of Lieutenant Murphy. '_How's it going down there?'_

'So far, so good.' He said. 'No hostile contact of any kind.' Scott paused, then added, 'No contact made at all, actually.'

'_Nothing?' _Murphy asked.

'Nothing.' Scott confirmed. 'Well, no direct contact.' He described the nearby ruins and body. 'If there are people down here, I haven't found them yet.'

'_Very well, Commander.' _Murphy said. '_If you do find any, see if they can give you some insight on what happened.'_

'I will.' Scott ended the transmission as he crested the brow of a hill, taking a moment to stare at what lay before him.

On the journey down in the HEV Tara had filled him in on just where they would be headed, displaying pictures that would have been at home in a brochure for tourists. But the first thing she had told him was the name of the city: Washington, DC. Scott knew from history lessons during training that it was the capital of the United States of America, a now defunct political union following the formation of the UNSC, and that even after humanity had spread beyond the stars it had played an important role in deciding policies. He also knew that it had modern looking buildings. All Inner Colonies did. But what he was looking out over was anything but modern. It resembled art-deco.

'Tara, can you bring up a wide shot of Washington from the north?' He asked.

'Of course.' The AI filled Scott's HUD with a panoramic picture of the city.

'Now compare it to the current view.' Whilst there were several buildings missing, or even added, the overall shape was the same and Tara quickly analysed the two variants. Lines flickered over them and several points were highlighted.

'Comparison complete.' She announced. 'Geographical points have an eighty-three percent match.'

'Focus on the architecture.' Scott said. 'I want to know how much the buildings themselves differ.' Tara paused briefly as she tried to process his request then selected numerous different structures that were present in both pictures. More lines swept over them.

'Current designs do not match those on file.' The images blinked off. 'I estimate a match of only twelve percent.' Scott frowned and he could imagine Tara doing the same. Too many things didn't add up. The background radiation, the lack of a UNSC presence and now this.

'Send a copy of this to the _Heavy. _Maybe they'll have better luck figuring it out.' Scott shifted his grip on the rifle, the uneasy feeling starting up again. With difficulty, the Spartan banished the feeling to a dark corner of his mind and pressed on.

**Spartan-B124**_**,**_** outskirts of Washington, DC. 1402 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The air was quiet, with only the occasional howl of wind or groan of aged metal making any noise as Scott set foot inside the beginning of the ruined city. It looked even worse than it had done from afar. Every building bore some kind of damage, usually in the form of shattered windows and collapsed entrances, or had crumbled completely. The few trees he saw were dead and withered.

'I think Sasha was right.' Scott said, breaking the silence. 'It looks like a nuclear war happened.' The Spartan looked around at the devastation, nodding to himself. This was what had been bothering him. 'But maybe not quite as severely as she predicted.'

'Why?' Tara asked. 'Radiation counts are elevated, as are ash and soot levels.'

'Yeah, I know. But,' Scott pointed at the surrounding structures. 'If there had been a nuclear exchange these wouldn't be standing. Most UNSC nuclear weapons have multi-megaton yields. The HAVOK mines can explode with about thirty megatons worth of force, Shiva missiles have even more. This damage looks like it came from a low yield weapon, a little less than a megaton.' Before he could continue, Tara cut him off.

'Alert. Four contacts approaching from the south west.' The AI announced calmly. Scott barely had time to bring his rifle up and shoulder it as four blips appeared on his motion tracker and came straight for him. He span, body reacting on instinct and muscle memory, coming face to face with a mass of yellow-green skin clad in makeshift armour. Part of Scott's mind took in the thing's appearance. It was humanoid, towering above him at over eight feet tall, and had a sneering face that was screaming at him. And it was decidedly not friendly.

'STUPID HUMAN!' The thing had a voice akin to a guttural growl, but the part of Scott's mind that was focused on what the thing was filed away the fact it could speak English. The other part, that was focused more on surviving, ordered his body to bring the muzzle of the rifle up and fire. But the creature used it's left arm to knock it away and with it's right arm brandished a thick plank of wood.

The Spartan allowed his gun to be knocked away and threw up his left arm in an attempt to block the plank as the creature continued to yell and swung the impromptu weapon down. It collided with Scott's arm, splintering under the force, and momentarily left it's owner off balance. As this was happening, Scott snapped up his pistol and began firing. Three rounds struck the creature's stomach, the next tore through the chest. The fifth bullet ripped open the thing's throat, nearly decapitating it. But Scott didn't stop there, unleashing a double-tap into the humanoid's face. Blood, bone and brains erupted from the back of it's skull as the 12.7mm HE rounds did their job and killed the creature.

'Die, metal man!' Three more of the creatures were stood a ways off, wielding guns of some kind. Scott made out two bolt action rifles and, worryingly, a minigun that was spooling up. The Spartan fired his last remaining bullet at the creature holding it, striking in the shoulder. The wound did nothing more anger the already angry humanoid.

'Shit.' Scott breathed as he ejected the spent magazine, slid a new one home and resumed firing. The wounded creature roared as the two either side of it responded in kind, sending their own barrage of bullets Scott's way. He ducked and rolled to the side, scooping up his fallen rifle, then stood. Rounds from the bolt action rifles collided with his shields and made them flare. Thankfully, they didn't pack much of a punch and Scott unleashed an extended burst from his rifle, striking the right-hand thing in the chest. Blood oozed out of the wounds and ran down it's chest, making the creature stagger and clutch at the wounds. Scott fired again, hitting the chest a second time, and brought it down. By now the humanoid with the minigun had spooled it up fully and started laughing.

'Now try and hide from THIS!' it yelled, unleashing a barrage of bullets that impacted the dirt in front of Scott, throwing up chips of concrete and rocks, before the thing raised the barrel and the rounds started impacting the Spartan. Like the rifles the others carried, each individual bullet did negligible damage. But there were so many of them. Scott dove out of the line of fire, emptying his magazine as his shield bar drooped to just over halfway. Though the minigun wielding one was hit by over ten rounds, it continued to track and fire at Scott. He ducked behind a pile of rubble just big enough to conceal him, reloaded his gun, waited for his shields to recharge, then exploded out of cover.

Spartans, after augmentation, had reaction times nearly three times quicker than those of a normal human and their strength was almost superhuman. The MJOLNIR armour added to this, allowing them to react five times as fast and doubled their strength. During combat, when the adrenaline was pumping, their abilities were even more pronounced. As Scott leapt over the rubble, everything seemed to be in slow motion. He shouldered his rifle and sighted on the creature with the minigun, unloading an entire clip of ammunition into it as he felt his feet touch the floor. At that moment, he dropped the spent magazine, slid a new one home and was firing again before it could even fall to the ground.

'STUPID METAL MAN! WHY WON'T. YOU. DIE!' The minigun owner managed to scream this final sentence as a well placed burst blew it's head to pieces, dropping the thing. The remaining creature, undeterred by the death of the others, continued to shoot even as Scott shifted his attention and brought the assault rifle to bear. A final pull of the trigger ended the monster and silence fell once again over the ruins.

'What were they?' Tara whispered as Scott moved to inspect the corpses, starting with the one that had held the minigun. It was covered in bullet wounds, nearly forty in total, that still leaked blood. Scott nodded at his handiwork. All of them were clustered in a tight grouping. His drill instructors would have been proud.

'I don't know.' He replied, paying close attention to the face. A single stray bullet had punctured its way through the nose, creating a neat hole, but other than that the head was undamaged. Scott tilted his own as he scrutinised the features, an odd sense of familiarity washing over him. The thing looked human, only warped and angry. 'But it looks like it used to be a man.'

'The armour doesn't look substantial .' The AI observed. 'In fact, it looks like it was made out of scrap metal.' Scott pried off a piece from the chest and examined it for a moment before bending it in half. The metal splintered and fell apart in his hands.

'You're right.' He murmured, turning his attention to the minigun. It was still in the hands of the creature, splattered with gore and covered in scratches. 'Got any ideas on this?' Line appeared in Scott's HUD and swept over the gun's design.

'No.' Tara said a second later. 'Though the design closely resembles _some _UNSC weapons, there are no exact matches. Past or present.' Scott crouched closer to the minigun and tried to find any kind of distinguishing mark.

'Rockwell, CZ53.' He read off. 'Year of manufacture: 2075?'

'That can't be right.' Tara said. 'It would make this thing nearly five hundred years old!'

'That's what it says.' Scott tapped the inscription, reading it again. '2075.' The two of them lapsed into silence as they tried to process the information.

'That can't be right.' Tara repeated. Scott gave a vague nod then stood back up, reloading his rifle.

'_Heavy Hitter, _this is SPARTAN-B124. Do you copy, over?' He stared down at the corpse and the weapon, still trying to make sense of his situation.

'_SPARTAN-B124, this is the _Heavy Hitter.' Murphy announced. '_Made any contact, yet?'_

'Yes.' Scott said. 'Contact made with four unknowns, all hostile.'

'_Unknown?' _Murphy asked. Scott didn't elaborate, but had Tara upload the recordings of the firefight and his basic examination of the creature. He heard the Lieutenant take a sharp intake of breath. '_Holy shit. Um, hang on Commander. I need to get the Captain.' _Scott waited, settling down on the same rubble he had used for cover.

'_Commander?' _McNeal asked, replacing Lieutenant Murphy on the communications station. '_Fill me in.'_

'You know as much as I do, sir.' Scott said. 'These four contacts appeared from the south west and engaged me without warning. I retaliated, took them down, then inspected them. They aren't Covenant.'

'_Yes, Commander, we know.' _McNeal said. '_Press on to the objective. Maybe it'll have some answers.'_

'Aye aye, sir.' Scott craned his neck upwards and scanned the sky in a vain attempt to spot the frigate. 'What kind of reinforcements can I expect?'

'_We're currently working on that, Spartan.' _McNeal reassured him. '_The ODSTs are attaching CBRN modules to their armour and are gearing up for a combat drop. Don't worry, you're not alone down there.'_

'That's what I'm afraid of, sir.' He dropped his gaze and re-orientated himself on the waypoint, some five miles or so distant. Between him and it were plenty of ruins and unknowns, maybe more of these grotesque humanoids. Scott cast one final look at the four corpses, eyes lingering on the minigun and the questions it raised, then resumed walking.

**Spartan-B124**_**,**_** city of Washington, DC. 1507 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'Objective in sight, Commander.' Tara announced as Scott emerged from behind a corner. He'd been forced to follow the river past his target to find a gap in the buildings, encountering more of the humanoids. He'd dealt with them like he'd dealt with the first four, leaving only a bloodied pile of corpses behind. After dealing with them, the Spartan had located a small alleyway than ran between two of the ruins and came out onto a heavily damaged stretch of road set between two rows of buildings, with the northern end rising to meet a bridge. Everywhere Scott looked he saw one of three things: giant footprints as large as a Mongoose ATV, craters caused by powerful explosions or scorched concrete. From what, he couldn't say. It just hinted at a tremendous battle occurring here at some point in the past. He'd taken a few moments to inspect the site before heading north and up the ramp, getting his first real view of the objective.

The Pentagon, named after its unique design, had been constructed during the Second World War to create a centralised command centre for American military forces. Following the conclusion of the conflict, it had remained in service up until the establishment of the UNSC in 2163. From there, it had been converted to act as a massive OCS facility and data storage facility then renamed on official documents as HIGHCOM facility A-17. If there were records on what had happened, Scott would find them there.

'Good.' He said, walking along the bridge. Scattered along its length were the hulks of ruined cars, with most if not all of them burnt out or torn open by violent explosions. Rust had completely eaten through some parts and threatened to consume others. Scott gave each vehicle he passed a quick glance but moved on before too long, arriving at a section of the bridge which had split from the rest and fallen down to create a slope. Scott made his way down and cautiously began walking towards the Pentagon, following a well worn path in the dirt.

'Here we go.' He whispered, more to himself than to Tara. He rounded a cluster of rocks that were blocking is line of sight to the objective and the waypoint winked off, only to be replaced by three more.

'Alert.' Tara announced urgently. 'Unknown contacts detected.' Scott instantly shouldered his rifle and dropped to a crouch, moving forward at a slow and deliberate pace.

'Can you identify?' he asked, hoping the contacts weren't more of the yellow-green humanoids. Tara waited a beat as she directed the sensors built into the MJOLNIR armour on the unknowns.

'Two of them are human.' She said, sounding somewhat surprised. 'And the other appears to be a robot of some kind.' Scott stopped but kept his rifle pointed in the direction of the three contacts.

'How sure are you?'

'Fairly sure.' Tara answered. 'I'm picking up two definite bio-signs from the humans and a mass of radar emissions from the robot. Huh.' A tiny segment of Scott's HUD morphed into a graph of some kind filled with wavy lines. One of them was highlighted and analysed. 'The two humans are each broadcasting an identical frequency which appears to be a type of friend-or-foe tag for the robot.'

'Can you copy it?' Scott had plucked a fibre-optic probe from one his armour's compartments and plugged it into his helmet, extending it to see beyond the rocks. The image it produced was a little grainy but clear enough to see the three contacts Tara had identified. Just as the AI had told him, there were two humans clad in some type of armour Scott hadn't seen before. It looked similar to the old Mark IV MJOLNIR armour, except bulkier and more crudely built.

'Yes.' Tara said. Scott adjusted the probe and focused on the robot. It two arms mounted on a tough looking torso which sat atop a three legged base. Tara instantly took a detailed picture and analysed it, comparing it to presumably everything in her memory. 'The robot doesn't match anything in my files, past or present, but seems to be armed with both a minigun and rocket launcher.' She tagged the weapons for Scott to see.

'Are you sure that you can copy the signal?' he asked, withdrawing the probe.

'One-hundred percent, Commander.' Tara killed the image of the robot as the Spartan stood back up. 'But it wasn't as difficult as I'm used to.'

'Meaning?'

'Most Covenant systems use a 128,000-bit modulating encryption scheme, usually aboard their ships, and it takes me approximately thirty-five seconds to crack it.' Tara explained. 'The FOF tags those people are emitting took me less than four.'

'Is that good or bad?' Scott risked a glance from behind the rocks at the three contacts.

'That depends on your point of view.' She replied. 'But in this case, it's bad. Modern computer systems, even those used by Insurrectionists, are protected by encryption systems that would take me more than four seconds to break into. Whoever these people are, they aren't UNSC.'

'So let's find out.' Scott moved away from the rocks but kept his assault rifle slung across his chest, wanting to appear non-threatening as he approached the two armoured people.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Four

**Spartan-B124, city of Washington, DC. 1518 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott hoped he looked friendly enough as he walked up the small incline leading to the Pentagon. It appeared to be in a case of severe disrepair, with every visible window smashed or missing and a huge gaping hole where the southern corner should be. A slab of metal was held over the gap by a nearby crane and the Spartan summarised it could act as an effective barricade in times of an attack.

'Make sure video recorders are working, Tara.' Scott whispered, drawing within twenty metres of the two men. Up close, he could see their armour was far bulkier than he had originally thought and that it would severely limit the wearer's mobility. It had a helmet that looked just as crude as the rest, featuring a filter of some kind and a lamp on the forehead. The one on the right was carrying a minigun, an exact match to the one the humanoid had wielded. His partner, however, was armed with a small rifle of some kind. The stock and barrel were made of wood whilst the main body was metal. Tara swept over the design without asking. Like the minigun, it didn't match anything fully and only had a partial-match on an antiquated rifle from the twentieth century.

'Video recorders working, Commander.' She whispered back as Scott got within ten metres of the men. By now, they had their weapons trained on him.

'Okay, that's close enough.' The minigun holder said, finger hovering over the trigger as his partner adjusted their stance to present a smaller target and provide a more stable firing position. Scott instantly noticed and guessed they had received some basic military training. 'State your business.'

'I need to access the records kept here.' Scott answered, coming to a stop. 'And the locations of any heavy manufacturing plants in the area.' He focused his attention on Minigun, seemingly the more senior of the pair as he was the one who had spoken first. Minigun stared back.

'Sorry, but the Brotherhood of Steel doesn't let outsiders view it's files.' He eyed Scott's equipment again. 'Where exactly did you get gear like that? It doesn't look like your usual level of wasteland tech.' Scott's eyes opened fractionally in surprise, yet more questions filling his head. Firstly, if this was Earth, how could someone not recognise the MJOLNIR armour and the MA5C? They were the two most recognisable pieces of equipment the UNSC had after the Warthog and Pelican. Secondly, who or what was the Brotherhood of Steel?

'It's standard issue.' Scott said carefully, starting to feel uneasy. Something was very wrong here.

'Standard issue? For what?' Rifle asked. Minigun momentarily glanced his way then back to the Spartan.

'The UNSC.' Scott pointed to the small emblem on his armour, tapping the eagle to draw their attention to it.

'Never heard of it.' Minigun stated, not even bothering to get a closer look at the symbol. He rested his finger on the weapon's trigger but didn't press it, watching Scott carefully. 'And unless you can show me something that proves you're part of the Brotherhood, I'm not letting you in.'

'But I need to access the records.' Scott repeated evenly. Then he closed his external speakers to talk to Tara directly. 'Radio the _Heavy_ and alert them that we might need some help.'

'Aye aye, sir.' Tara said. The Spartan reactivated his speakers.

'No means no.' Minigun said.

'Are you sure?' Scott asked. 'Isn't there some other way I can gain access to the files?' Minigun and Rifle exchanged a look, occasionally glancing his way and making subtle nods at the armour and weapons.

'_Heavy_ _Hitter_ reports they have two squads of ODSTs ready and waiting.' Tara whispered. 'And three flights of Pelicans. They can be here within thirty minutes.'

'Acknowledged.' He whispered back.

'There is a way for you to take a look at them.' Rifle told the Spartan after a few moments, the two having finished their silent discussion. He seemed unhappy with the idea, as did Minigun, but continued. 'We're always on the lookout for new members, anyone can join, but sometimes we hire mercs to do jobs we can't.'

'And we pay them in caps or medical supplies or whatever they think is appropriate.' Minigun added. 'I guess... I guess we can find something for you to do and in return you can access some of our files. Just not things like weapons or armour.'

'I understand.' Scott said, nodding his head in agreement.

'But we need to clear it with our Elder first.' Minigun warned. 'Something like this, he has to agree with it.' Scott nodded again.

'Great. Then you can wait here.' Rifle ordered, heading towards a small intercom set into the wall. Scott blinked, surprised he'd missed it but remained quiet as Rifle had a hushed conversation. Unfortunately for him, the MJOLNIR armour had receivers built in that could pick up a whisper at a hundred metres. Rifle was barely a fifth of that from Scott.

'Uh, sir? We have an unusual situation outside that you might want to hear about.'

'_What kind of situation, Initiate?_' The speaker had a gruff, annoyed voice that reminded Scott of his drill instructors during training on Onyx.

'Well, sir, it's kind of hard to explain. We have an individual who has some serious tech wanting access to our files.' Rifle's head twitched in Scott's direction but remained facing the intercom.

'_Serious tech? How serious_?'

'Enclave or Commonwealth serious, maybe even more.' He keyed the intercom off and waited, long enough for Scott to grow a little worried.

'_Alright. Send them in, Initiate_.' Rifle straightened up and span to face Scott, motioning for him to come closer.

'Looks like this is your lucky day, kid.' He said as the Spartan drew level with him. 'Turns out you can have access to our files.' Rifle jerked his head towards the door. 'Inside. They're waiting for you.'

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, Washington, DC. 1527 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Silence met Scott as he pushed open the double doors leading into the Pentagon's courtyard. Over a dozen people were stood watching him, all wearing the same bulky armour as Minigun and Rifle aside from one, an elderly man wearing blue robes who leant against one of the figures for support. Minigun stayed outside whilst Rifle followed Scott inside, hovering just behind and to the left of him. Tara tagged each of them with transparent markers on Scott's HUD.

'_Heavy Hitter_ still on standby, Commander.' She said.

'Acknowledged.' He replied, scanning the crowd before him. They were all armed, mostly with rifles of some kind and Scott spotted a few designs he hadn't previously seen before. Three of the people held odd-looking weapons built with a rectangular barrel and perforated stock. He couldn't see a magazine. Two in the crowd carried guns with long barrels and a scope. Sniper rifles, obviously. Scott came to a halt in the middle of the courtyard, looking down when his feet came into contact with metal. A huge silo door was set right in the centre of the courtyard, covered in rust and discarded bottles.

'That shouldn't be there.' Tara told him. 'There was never any silo built into the Pentagon.'

'Just another mystery.' Scott muttered, looking back up again as the robed man detached themselves from the crowd and hobbled towards him. There was a definite air of leadership coming off the man and Scott fought the urge to come to attention, an involuntary reflex for Spartans in the presence of officers with a higher rank. There was also a series of clicks as weapon safeties were disengaged. Evidently these people didn't trust Scott near this man.

'Before we discuss your request, I believe introductions are in order.' He held out his hand, something most people would never do with a Spartan. To put your hand in one that could easily crush it was unnerving. This either meant the man didn't know what Scott was, or didn't care. 'My name is Owyn Lyons, Elder of the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel.'

'SPARTAN-B124.' Scott took his hand and shook it, gently. 'Lieutenant Commander of the UNSC.'

'I don't think I've heard of your group before.' Owyn said, taking his hand away. 'And your name is very peculiar.' He quickly glanced over Scott's armour, much like Minigun and Rifle had done numerous times earlier. Owyn lingered on the MA5C then returned his gaze to Scott's visor.

'I've never heard of your group either.' Scott replied, and was about to list all of the other inconsistencies he'd discovered but decided against it. The uneasy feeling was starting up again and it was telling him to keep quiet.

'Where have you come from?' Owyn asked. 'It may explain why neither of us has heard of the other.' A small smile flickered across his face but soon vanished. Scott tried to think of somewhere, drawing on his knowledge of battles fought on Earth, and in particular the North American continent.

'Nova Scotia.' He answered quickly.

'Ah, that is far away.' Owyn chuckled but it soon developed into a cough. One of the people behind him started to move but checked their motion. A concerned friend, perhaps?

'So what brings you so far from home?' he asked once the coughing had stopped.

'My people need access to some of the files stored here, hoping it can shed some light on a few answers they have.' Scott said. 'We thought it would have been abandoned.'

'Who exactly are your people?'

'The Unified Nova Scotian Commonwealth.' Scott read from his HUD, Tara providing a feasible name for the acronym. Owyn gave a small nod then indicated to a door nestled between two yellow barrels.

'Shall we continue this discussion inside?' he offered. 'Only, at my age I find it difficult to remain standing for too long.'

'Of course, sir.' Scott said, adding the honorific on reflex. Owyn then led him and five of the armoured people inside. Scott kept one eye on his motion tracker. The same person who had originally moved to help Owyn when he'd coughed was by his side almost instantly, the older man leaning on them for support as they descended a set of steps.

'I'm picking up a high energy signature coming from a nearby room.' Tara announced, flagging the area with a waypoint. Scott swept his gaze right and caught a glimpse of a huge white machine with a bank of red lights running up the centre.

'Any ideas?' he asked.

'No.' Tara admitted. 'The thing has a massive energy input and is generating quite a bit of heat.' Scott looked again and saw a small monitor set up nearby.

'Maybe it's a computer?' he speculated as Owyn led the group into a small room. The door was flanked by two more of the armoured men and there was a painted wooden sign hung on the wall which read 'Great Hall'.

'Impossible.' Tara countered. 'That thing is far too big, uses too much energy and matches nothing even resembling a computer.'

'Just like everything else we've seen today.' Scott muttered, standing behind one of several chairs inside the room. Owyn eased himself down into one and rested both hands on a desk that occupied most of the floor space.

'Won't you sit, Lieutenant Commander?' he asked, noticing the still standing Spartan.

'These chairs won't take the weight of my armour.' Scott replied. 'I'm fine standing.'

'As you wish.' The person who had helped Owyn earlier sat down next to the man and removed their helmet, and Scott saw it was a woman with blonde hair. 'This is my daughter, Sarah. She holds the rank of Sentinel and leads her own team, our veteran troops.'

'Hello.' She said, nodding her head as well.

'Ma'am.' Scott said back. He clasped his hands behind his back and came to what amounted to parade rest, rifle slung over his rucksack.

'Now, what exactly were you hoping to find in the files?' Owyn asked. 'And why come all this way to get it?'

'I don't know. My commanders told me to come here, gain access to the files and then download them all onto a storage device before coming back.' Scott shifted on his feet. 'They gave me my orders, supplies and directions. That's it.'

'Did they send you to find anything else?' Sarah asked, leaning forward.

'Yes.' Scott confirmed. 'The location of any heavy manufacturing plants in the local area.'

'Well, you might have struck out there, Spartan.' Owyn said, sighing wearily. 'For the past six years we've been trying to locate similar plants to create parts for a... project of ours and unfortunately, it hasn't happened.'

'My team and I have been over every inch of the DC ruins and beyond.' Sarah explained. 'The closest we came to finding something even remotely like what we wanted was an old car factory and that had been overrun by a bunch of giant ants.'

'So, you don't know where a manufacturing plant is.' Scott said, earning two nods from Owyn and Sarah. The remaining four figures just watched him. 'Do you know if some other part of the country might have one?'

'Quite possibly.' Owyn started to say. 'But we've been in the Capital Wasteland for nearly thirty years now. Any information we might have could be outdated.'

'Something is better than nothing.' Scott countered.

'I suppose.' He turned to his daughter. 'Speak to Rothchild, have him write a list of any pre-War facilities he can think of that can handle heavy manufacturing.'

'Yes, sir.' Sarah said, standing and saluting. She left and headed out of the room. Scott watcher her go on his motion tracker.

'Now, about your original request.' Owyn said, facing the Spartan. 'We cannot allow you access to some of our more sensitive files, weapon schematics and the like, but we can let you see most of the pre-War documents.'

'That's fine.' Scott assured him, nodding his head in thanks.

'But in return, you have to perform certain tasks for us.' Owyn added. 'Complete them and we'll give you access to what you need.'

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**in orbit around Earth. 1539 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Captain McNeal maintained a brisk pace as he left the bridge and headed towards the _Heavy Hitter_'s temporary science laboratory, set up in an unused bunk room for the Marines. He'd had set it up after the Spartan had encountered the yellow-green humanoid in hopes of figuring out what it was. That had been an hour ago, and McNeal hoped they had some answers. He stopped outside the door leading into the bunk room and pressed the button to open it, stepping inside. There were six of them, mostly medical personnel, and a bank of different monitors, each one displaying the same captured image of the creature Scott had killed.

'Got anything for me?' McNeal asked, announcing his presence. All six of the room's inhabitants looked up from what they were doing, gave a small salute, then resumed their tasks. One of them, a woman bearing the single bar of a Lieutenant, Junior Grade, typed something into her terminal then made her way over to the Captain. If he remembered correctly, she was Anna Farnsworth and the highest ranking medical officer onboard.

'Sir, we haven't really made much progress.' She said, waving a hand at the others and the single image. 'That picture and the video it came from are the only things we have on these creatures. All I can tell you right now is that it may have been human. _May.' _Anna led McNeal over to her terminal and tapped in a series of commands.

'Until I can get some proper samples, or even a live specimen, I can only offer speculations and guesses.' The screen lit up and displayed a still of the humanoid before Scott had killed it. Anna zoomed in on the face and brought up both hers and McNeal's ID photos. 'I compared the facial structure of it to ours and made observations of the differences.' She pressed the execute command on the keyboard. A number of lines overlapped all three faces, with McNeal's on the right, Anna's on the left and the thing in the middle. Points were highlighted on the two human pictures and then compared to the creature.

'Bone structures match, as you can see here along the nose, brow and chin.' Anna used a stylus to tap the areas. 'But it's neither male nor female.'

'I don't understand.' McNeal said, gesturing to the images. 'We've found male and female specimens of Grunts and Jackals before. They had specific differences.'

'I know, Captain.' Anna replied. 'I read over those reports myself. But this... this thing, whatever it is, has no visible facial characteristics of either gender.'

'So how does it reproduce?' McNeal wondered, crossing his arms as he continued to look at the terminal. 'Asexually?'

'Anything's possible, sir.' Anna said. 'Until I can get samples of that thing, I can't say for sure.'

'At least we know they can die.' McNeal muttered. 'I'm pretty sure that's all the Marines will care about.'

'Do you want us to keep working on this, sir?' Anna wondered. 'Because I don't think there's much more to be learnt from the video.'

'No, you can leave it, Lieutenant.' McNeal ordered. 'Just don't pack these things away.' He gestured to the equipment set up. 'We may get a specimen at some point, or come across another creature we haven't seen before. In the meantime, resume your usual duties.'

'Aye aye, sir.' Anna came to attention and gave a salute, receiving one in return, before shutting her terminal down.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Five

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, Washington, DC. 2230 Hours, September 05, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott let out a long sigh as he leant back against a wall, looking up at the night sky. It was something he did whenever there was a lull in the fighting, or if he was on an extended patrol. Not because he thought it was a beautiful sight, but because it always reminded him of his parents.

They were long since dead, killed during a Covenant attack in 2534 when Scott was four. He could remember the tears his mother had fought back as she handed him to a Marine on a Pelican dropship, and the smile his father forced onto his face when the doors had shut. Scott could remember the last thing they had ever said to him with crystal clarity. _Don't worry, son. We'll be on the next ship, just stay with all the other kids and you'll be fine. _Scott could remember fighting back his own tears as the dropship took off, leaving them behind. Even then, at the age of four, he knew he would never see them again. That had been the last semi-normal day of Scott's life. From there, it had been a blur of orphanages until the Navy stepped in, asking if he wanted to get back at the Covenant. Without hesitation, four year old Scott had said yes.

After that, his life became a blur of ships and tests, ending at Camp Currahee on Onyx, his new home. For the next seven years he would be moulded into a lethal killing machine, capable of taking on impossible odds and coming out the other side unscathed. A Spartan. It had been the proudest day of Scott's life to hear Lieutenant Ambrose to address him and his brothers and sisters as one.

Ever since that day, Scott had always looked up at the stars to remember how it had all started.

'Download complete, Commander.' Tara said, bringing the Spartan back to reality. Earlier in the day, Owyn had given Scott a brief outline of what he had to do in order to access the files. An outpost of theirs, stationed somewhere in the ruins of the city, had recently gone quiet after a series of attacks from 'Super Mutants', a creature who's description matched that of the ones Scott had killed after landing. As a result of the attacks, Owyn had organised a small expedition to expedition to remake contact. Scott had requested as many high-quality overheads as possible of the area. He'd also sent the mission logs containing views of the armour most of the people here wore, asking for a possible analysis. Scott had gotten it, along with the satellite images, which Tara had just downloaded.

'Let's see the overheads first.' Scott ordered. Instantly his HUD morphed into a large picture of the city seen from above. It looked like a warzone. Scott's objective had been tagged with a waypoint. 'How do we get to it?'

'Scanning.' Tara replied, zooming the image out as she placed a grid on top. Dozens of various lines appeared, originating from the Pentagon and ending at the target. Unfortunately, none did, 'I see no possible way, sir. All surface routes are blocked.'

'What about underground?' he speculated.

'Possible.' Tara admitted, processing the idea for a second. 'Although without detailed knowledge, I can't plan routes to use.'

'So let's hope our new friends know the way.' Scott muttered. 'Alright, now show me their armour.'

'Of course, Commander.' The overheads morphed into a model of the armour Sarah, Minigun and Rifle had all worn. Various points were tagged. 'Initial observations suggest this armour to be made of riveted steel plates, increasing survivability but at a cost of manoeuvrability. Weight would also be an issue due to the high amount of metal used and its density.' Tara rotated the picture to display the back. 'These tanks appear to be part of either a fuel source of storage for a hydraulic system, hinting at the possibility these suits can increase the wearer's strength.'

'What kind of protection does it offer?' Scott's MA5C fired a 7.62mm armour piercing round, standard throughout all branches of the UNSC, and could bring down a single Grunt or Elite in a matter of seconds. Scott wanted to know how they would stack up against these suits the Brotherhood wore. Just in case.

'Because of the amount of steel present, it is predicted to have a high degree of protection against small arms such as the M7 and M6G due to the relatively low power they posses.' Tara said. 'But against mainline weapons such as the assault rifle, battle rifle and shotgun that protection is reduced. And against heavy weapons like the sniper rifle, rocket launcher and Spartan Laser that protection is gone completely.'

'All this from a few videos?' Scott mused.

'Yes, Commander.' Tara then highlighted a series of valves, pipes and hinges on the armour. 'Analysis also indicates that these points may be part of the suit's electrical or hydraulic systems. Hitting these areas may cause the armour to be rendered useless.'

'That's kind of a fatal flaw, isn't it?' The Spartan murmured. He studied the images for a few more moments then shut them off as the doors leading into the courtyard opened. Scott had been allowed to stay there, provided he didn't try to access the inner areas, and allocated a small space in what passed for a dormitory. It was sparsely furnished, containing a few wafer thin mattresses on rusty bed frames and a single refrigerator packed with bottles of water, and open to the elements. One corner of the room had crumbled away, leaving a large gap that led onto a decent sized ledge which Scott had settled on when it had gotten dark. Directly opposite the dorm was the main entrance. Scott rose to a crouch and made his way closer to the edge of the ledge to get a better view.

Two men were stood in front of the double doors, one clad in the bulky armour the rest of the Brotherhood wore whilst the other was wearing an outfit that looked like a crude imitation of Marine combat armour. Plates covered the upper chest, shoulders, knees and shins and if Scott squinted he could see pouches on the hips too. They both carried assault rifles, slung over one shoulder, but they were slightly different to the ones he had seen before. Both had no stock. Instead, they were equipped with a scope and maybe a suppressor.

'Special operations, perhaps?' Tara speculated as the two men made their way across the courtyard and entered the inside of the Pentagon.

'Possibly.' Scott answered, resuming his original position against the wall. 'It would explain why they're getting back at this hour. And the weapons they carried.'

'But what about the armour of the second one?' Tara brought up an image of the person in question and enhanced it, brightening it. 'It's not what these Brotherhood people usually wear.'

'Might be a trainee, Tara.' Scott said. 'Could be that they have to earn the right to wear the more protective stuff.'

'Or something else entirely.' The AI dissolved the picture and Scott powered down his HUD, shifting so he was flat on his back. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day, and he wanted to be well rested for it.

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, Washington, DC. 0812 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The sky was overcast, a thick blanket of cloud blocking the sun, as Scott and a dozen people gathered in the middle of the Pentagon's courtyard. They had all appeared in the last hour, usually in twos or threes, and had varying but similar equipment. Ten of them carried weapons Scott had seen before, a mixture of the assault and bolt action rifles he saw yesterday, while the remaining two had drum-fed weapons with barrels so short they screamed shotgun. As for the armour they wore, over half had some made of a dark leather reinforced by battered sporting equipment. The others had either ramshackle armour made of anything imaginable or simply had none at all.

'What do you think we're waiting for?' Tara asked as Scott shifted on his feet and bounced his assault rifle up and down in his hands. It had been ten minutes since the last of the mercenaries had shown up and Sarah, after taking their names, had disappeared back inside the Pentagon.

'I don't know.' He replied, glancing around the courtyard. 'There might be some last minute change of plans and they haven't told us yet.' The Spartan considered heading inside the building but at that moment Sarah emerged, followed by the man Scott had seen last night, only this time he was carrying a larger rifle without a scope and a skeletal stock.

'Maybe I spoke too soon.' Tara commented.

'Maybe.' Scott said. The man stayed close behind Sarah, eying the gathered mercenaries. His gaze lingered on Scott a fraction longer than the others before resuming their roving pattern. Scott did the same, taking every little detail he could about the newcomer. He was still wearing the combat armour from last night with a matching helmet. Both were a dull green-grey, the paint chipped in places, and well worn. Scott's eyes flickered across his left arm and down to something strapped to the wrist. It looked like a bracer of some kind, but adorned with a screen and buttons.

'Picking up a faint wireless signal.' The AI announced.

'Location?' Scott asked.

'Him.' Tara said, surprised. 'It's a faint handshake protocol.'

'Can you access it?' The man had moved to stand in front of the main entrance, back to it, as Sarah tried to get everyone's attention.

'Yes.' Tara replied after a brief second. 'There was some minor encryption but not enough to keep me out.' Instantly a loading bar appeared on Scott's HUD as files were transferred from whatever the device was to Tara.

'Analyse them.' He ordered, shifting his attention to Sarah as she gathered all twelve of them around.

'Now that we're all here, we can get started.' Sarah began. 'As you may know, a Brotherhood outpost near Vernon Square has gone dark recently and attempts to make contact have been unsuccessful. Normally, we'd send a squad of Knights to see what had happened but recent operations have drained our manpower.'

'So you're sending us.' One of the mercenaries said. Scott glanced at him, as did a few others.

'Yes.' Sarah confirmed. 'The Brotherhood believes this is just a small communications malfunction, and you'll be going to see if they have anything to report.'

'What if it isn't a malfunction?' the same mercenary asked. Scott took a longer look at the man. He had an unhappy expression, verging on disgust, as he watched Sarah and the man stood behind her.

'Then you come straight back to the Citadel and tell us.' She answered. 'The Brotherhood will organise a team to go out and conduct a more thorough search of the area.' Her companion cocked his head and looked at the man who had spoken.

'And if you don't want to go, there's the door.' He said, holding an arm out to the double doors behind him. 'Nobody's keeping you here.' The mercenary moved to go but another, a woman, gripped his arm and whispered something in his ear that made him stop. 'Except her.' A small laugh went through the crowd as the mercenary turned an angry shade of red.

'As I was saying,' Sarah resumed once the noise had died down. 'You'll head over to Vernon Square, locate the outpost and find out why they've gone dark. After that, return here for your payments.' Her eyes flickered to Scott as she said this. 'But until then, I'll be handing you over to Knight Hullum. He's going to be leading you to the outpost.' She stepped to one side and nodded to the man. He nodded back.

'Analysis complete, sir.' Tara whispered. She brought up a series of different folders, all organised by the type of files they contained. Scott saw there were audio, visual and text files. 'It took a while to read the data, as it's stored in a very archaic format, and I had to coordinate with Sasha to create a customised interface that allowed me to-'

'Cut to the chase, Tara.' Scott said quietly. Hullum was moving between the crowd, talking with them and checking over their equipment.

'Yes, Commander.' Tara minimised the folders. 'The data appears to be random assortment of files, collected from a wide variety of sources and containing dozens of different subjects, but I was able to sift through them and isolate various words and phrases that were mentioned multiple times. Amongst those were the Brotherhood, alongside Enclave, Project Purity, Vaults, Ghouls, Rivet City and an event called the Great War.'

'Great War?' Scott repeated, watching as Hullum disassembled on mercenary's weapon and check the internal parts. 'As in, the Human-Covenant War?'

'No.' the AI said. 'From what little I've been able to glean from the few files that mention it, this war occurred solely on Earth.'

'That can't be right.' Scott muttered, shaking his head. Far too many things didn't add up and a sense of foreboding filled the Spartan, as though the reason behind everything would be both impossible and add to the growing list of inconsistencies. But before he could dwell on the idea further, Hullum finally made his way over to Scott.

'Name?' he asked as soon as he drew near, scrutinising the Spartan's equipment like the others had done.

'SPARTAN-B124.' Scott answered.

'Weird name.' Up close, Scott could see dozens of scars lining his face, framing a set of dark brown eyes that were never quite still, and that Hullum's nose had been broken dozens of times. 'What merc group you with?'

'None.' He said, bristling slightly at being called a mercenary. Scott was a career soldier, like every other Spartan, and had a disliking of soldiers for hire. 'I'm with the UNSC.'

'Which is?' Hullum asked impatiently.

'Unified Nova Scotian Commonwealth.' He explained, noting Hullum's eyes flicker with recognition when he did.

'You part of the Institute?'

'The what?' Scott asked.

'Institute.' Hullum repeated. 'Only, with your advanced tech I thought that's where you came from.'

'No.' Scott shook his head. 'I've never heard of the Institute. This is my first time away visiting the area.'

'Oh. Never mind then.' Hullum glanced approvingly at the Spartan's weapons and armour. 'What calibre does the rifle fire?'

'7.62mm, armour-piercing.' Scott said, earning a low whistle in response. Hullum nodded at the pistol on his thigh. '12.7mm, semi-armour-piercing, high-explosive.'

'Holy fuck, seriously?' Hullum asked, genuinely surprised. 'Damn. That is one badass gun.' He looked down at his own leg and at the pistol strapped to it, a battered and scratched weapon that had been used many times before.

'You got any military training?' Hullum asked, looking back up.

'Yes.' Scott said.

'Probably better training than these guys.' Tara muttered. He ignored her.

'Good. You're on point with me, Spartan.' Hullum drew his own rifle and held it loosely in his hands, prompting Scott to do the same. Then, in an address to all the mercenaries, yelled, 'Let's move, people. Eric, Daisy, you're rear guard. Everybody else, fall in behind me. Time to earn some pay.'


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Six

**Spartan-B124, city of Washington, DC. 0903 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

They had been walking for a little over half an hour, making good progress despite the ruins, and were now parallel with the river. Scott and Hullum were still in front, both warily scanning the terrain ahead as the sun began to break through the cloud layer. It did nothing to make the scenery look any better.

'Another beautiful day in paradise.' Hullum muttered sarcastically, kicking a small rock along the path. It bounced a few times then came to a stop next to the waterline. Scott didn't comment but silently agreed, staring up and around at the ruined buildings and withered trees.

'How come you don't wear the same armour as the rest of the Brotherhood?' he asked instead.

'Because I'm not what you'd call a normal Brotherhood soldier.' Hullum answered. 'They have a way of doing things and I have another. One of those is armour choice.' He jerked his head in the general direction of the Pentagon. 'Their power armour is pretty much bulletproof against things like my rifle or anything the mercs have got and you'd need some pretty heavy stuff to break through. But it comes at a cost of weight and agility.'

'Because of all the metal.' Scott summarised, recalling the _Heavy Hitter_'s analysis of the armour.

'Yeah.' Hullum said, nodding. 'That, and it takes specialised training to wear.' He rapped his knuckles on his armour's breastplate. 'This might not be the best stuff at stopping a bullet or shrapnel, but it is a hell of a lot lighter and more flexible. Plus it's easy to repair.'

'Have you ever worn their armour?' Scott wondered.

'For a while. Then as time went on and I developed my methods, it became more of a hindrance. Now I only put it on when the situation calls for it.' He undid a pouch on his hip and withdrew a small box labelled Cram. 'Want some?'

'No thanks.' Scott said, shaking his head at the offer. He'd had an MRE before the first mercenary arrived and it held more than enough energy to keep him going. Hullum holstered his rifle and quickly opened the box, producing a fork from nowhere as he started to eat the contents. 'What made you break away from their way?'

'The Brotherhood's?' Hullum asked, swallowing a mouthful of food. Scott nodded. 'They never really got round to training me. When I joined, I could already fire a gun, lob a grenade and kill a man with a knife so they just gave me a few pointers on working as part of a team and left it at that. Lyons doesn't really care how I do things, so long as they get done. Why else would he send me into Old Olney or Adams Air Force Base alone?' He ate another mouthful of Cram. 'Or let me do whatever the hell I want between missions?'

'You don't actively go out with them on deployments?' Scott did a quick check of their surroundings as they passed a manmade island adorned with some kind of memorial featuring three soldiers wielding different weapons and striking heroic poses.

'Nope. I have a unique relationship with the people of the Capital Wasteland and I try to keep it like that.' Hullum finished the box and dropped it on the floor, stowing the fork and drawing his rifle.

'Unique?' Scott repeated. 'In what way?'

'They look up to me. Sort of.' Hullum said. He paused, trying to figure out how best to explain it to the Spartan. 'The DC ruins aren't exactly great, right? There's barely any food, shelter or safety, and then you have things like Super Mutants, raiders and feral ghouls trying their best to kill you. Daily life is just a struggle to see tomorrow so it can all start up again and usually the only way out is a bullet.

'When I first came here, I was looking for my father. He'd vanished without telling me so I tried to find him because, well, he was my dad. So I did a few things to get some information, helped one or two people with their problems and soon I was getting mentioned on Three Dog's broadcast as though I was some messiah.' A brief smile played across Hullum's lips but it quickly faded. 'It gave people hope that they could survive and prosper, even in this shithole.'

'Three Dog?' Scott arched an eyebrow behind his visor even though Hullum couldn't see it.

'He runs a station in DC called Galaxy News Radio, plays a bunch of pre-War songs and offers advice on surviving.' Hullum arched his own eyebrow, looking up and down Scott's armour. 'Don't you have a radio in all that?'

'I do.' The Spartan said. 'But I haven't done an active search for signals.' He switched off his external speakers and spoke to Tara. 'I thought you did a scan of the radio?'

'I did.' She answered. 'But only of known _UNSC_ frequencies, not civilian bands.' Tara brought up a graph filled with squiggling lines, analysing each in turn. 'Picking up two distinct signals.'

'Start listening in on them.' he ordered. 'And report back when you get the chance.'

'Aye, Commander.' Tara dissolved the graph as Scott reactivated his speakers.

'Why not?' Hullum asked, unaware of the brief conversation his companion had just had.

'It wasn't a priority.' Scott said. 'I had my orders and listening to the radio wasn't one of them.'

'One of the first things I do' Hullum retorted, nodding at the device on his wrist.

'What is that, exactly?' The Spartan asked. Up close he could see it vaguely resembled the wrist mounted TACPAD Marine officers used, only far bulkier and cruder.

'Pip-Boy, 3000A model.' Hullum held the Pip-Boy up for Scott to get a better look and he saw a cartoon man on a monochrome screen, with solid green bars next to each limb and one in the chest. 'It's kind of like a wrist mounted computer than has maps, a radio, Geiger counter, data storage and a flashlight, all in a convenient and easy to use location.'

'Is that standard Brotherhood of Steel equipment?' Scott asked as Hullum dropped his arm and brought the gun back up.

'No. At least, not this chapter.' He looked off to the north-west and Scott followed his gaze. 'I got it a while ago from my old home when I was ten. Ever since then, it's been a part of me and it's what most people think of when they're asked to describe the Lone Wanderer.'

'Is that what they call you?' Scott speculated. 'The Lone Wanderer?'

'Yeah.' Hullum shrugged. 'I never called myself that. It was all Three Dog trying to make a hero people could believe in and get behind. But it fits me in a weird way.' He nodded at the mercenaries behind them. 'They're happy to work in teams on jobs, usually in groups of four or more. With me, I'm better alone because that's how it's always been. I looked for my dad alone, I went to Point Lookout alone and I stepped into the purifier alone.' A dark look swept across Hullum's face but it soon vanished.

'You've always worked by yourself?'

'Mostly.' Hullum shrugged again. 'I only go with others if it can't be avoided, or I have to make sure they get where they're needed.'

'So what's this a case of?' Scott asked, indicating the mercenary group. 'Can't be avoided or making sure we get there?'

'Which would you prefer me to say?' Hullum wondered, giving the Spartan a wry smile.

'I can't speak for them, but I'd like to say can't be avoided.' Scott answered.

'Then you'd be right.' Hullum said, turning serious. 'The Brotherhood has used most of these merc groups before and knows they can rely on them. I'm only going because Brotherhood of Steel equipment and personnel are involved.' They emerged from the ruins of the city and were soon passing two obelisks that stood guard in front of a set of stairs descending down into the ground and into a subway station. Hullum stopped the group.

'Alright, I want everyone to be quiet whilst we're going through the tunnels.' He ordered. 'Ghouls and Mutants just love hearing humans wandering through them and they always have such nice welcoming gifts.' Hullum nodded at Scott and the pair started down the steps, pulling open the rusted chain link fence and stepped inside the dim station.

**Spartan-B124, city of Washington, DC. 1115 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott clicked off his night vision as the group emerged from the darkness of yet another subway station. Hullum had led them through tunnel after tunnel, encountering only a few of the creatures he called ghouls which were quickly taken down. Scott had given one a brief examination whilst the mercenaries paused for a drink and some food. It looked like a human, only the flesh had rotten away to leave the muscles and skeleton exposed. According to Hullum, they had once been people who'd fallen victim to masses of radiation and turned into a shuffling corpse. Tara had immediately denounced the theory but Scott had just added it to the list of inconsistencies, frowning as it continued to grow.

The Spartan banished the thought from his mind and concentrated on the present as he and Hullum made their way out of the station and back into the outside world. They both had their rifles shouldered and ready, fingers hovering just off the triggers. Behind them, the mercenaries followed with their own weapons drawn.

'Okay.' Hullum said quietly as he set foot onto a cracked pavement. 'Eric, I want you, Josh and Daisy to watch our six o'clock whilst we make our way to the outpost. This place is supposed to be crawling with Muties and they ain't too nice to meet.' The three mercenaries nodded and lagged behind the group, taking it in turns to walk backwards.

'Anderson, you and your group watch the left. Marcy, the right.' Hullum ordered. 'Spartan, stay close. Keep your eyes peeled.'

'Got it.' Scott whispered, watching the motion tracker as they moved towards one building in particular. It looked like it had once been a cinema, converted to act as a small outpost. He saw evidence of an attack in the form of bullet holes, scorch marks from grenades and blood. Lots of it, too.

'How many people were assigned here?' Scott asked as they came to a halt in front of the outpost.

'Two.' Hullum answered grimly, noticing the blood as well. There was far too much for it all to have come from a single, small wound. One or both of the men stationed here had suffered a serious injury, further confirmed when Hullum spotted a trail of it leading back inside. 'All of you take up defensive positions and keep a watch for anything hostile. Spartan, back me up. I'm going in.' Scott nodded and clamped his rifle on his back, drawing his pistol instead. It would be easier to use inside the building and more accurate.

Hullum kept his rifle out and dropped to a crouch, making his way past the blood. Scott did the same, activating his night vision as the light level dropped. He saw the destruction outside carried on inside. More bullet holes adorned the walls and floor, and one of the doors had been blown off its hinges. The Spartan gripped his pistol tightly as Hullum edged deeper into the outpost, pausing here and there at every blood stain and noting the direction of travel. It led him around a corner to a mangled and lifeless corpse wearing the Brotherhood's power armour. A pistol was still in its hand.

'Dammit.' Hullum whispered. He slung his rifle across his back and began searching the body. Scott crouched next to him, back to the corpse, and kept his gun trained on the hallway they had come through.

'Friend of yours?' Scott asked.

'No.' Hullum said, activating the flashlight on his Pip-Boy. It cast a harsh light over everything. 'I just hoped this was going to be a communication blackout, not an attack.' He retrieved several magazines from the fallen soldier and a set of dog tags from around their neck, stowing them in one of his pouches.

'Any ideas on who could have done this?'

'A few.' Hullum placed a hand on the body's chest then took it away. 'It's somebody with a serious amount of heavy ordnance and a high level of training to take on two Brotherhood soldiers. That rules out most raiders and ghouls.'

'What about Super Mutants?' Scott speculated. 'You said it yourself, this place is supposed to be crawling with them.'

'No, it's not them.' Hullum drew his rifle and made his way back down the hallway, spotting a second blood trail that went down a passage way and to a shut door. They went up to it and tried to handle, only to find it was locked. Hullum pulled out a screwdriver and some bobby pins and tried to unlock the door but it refused to open.

'Here, let me.' Scott said, positioning himself in front of the lock. Hullum moved out of the way and trained his rifle outwards, watching their backs. The Spartan transferred his pistol to his left hand and used his right to punch straight through the lock, handle and door, the wood offering barely any resistance. He shook splinters from his hand as the door sagged open.

'Thanks.' Hullum swapped places with Scott and pushed the now unlocked door open to reveal a closet containing cleaning supplies and a second dead Brotherhood soldier. Hullum performed another search of the body, acquiring more ammunition alongside a small device he held close to his Pip-Boy. He pressed a few buttons then waited. A few moments later, a voice came from the wrist mounted computer.

'_This is Paladin Barlow of the Brotherhood of Steel, Vernon Square patrol leader. Approximately half an hour ago, a large Talon Company detachment began an assault on this outpost. Myself and Knight Marsh managed to hold their initial attack off but we were overwhelmed by the sheer number of them and forced to retreat inside. Marsh took a round to the stomach and went down. I dragged him to cover and tried my best to treat the wound but the mercs made another push on the entrance and I got hit as well.' _The voice grunted in pain then let out a relieved sigh. '_Don't know what it was, probably a sniper with incredibly good luck, but it tore through my leg. Must have nicked an artery or something because the wound is gushing with blood. Used up all of my Med-X as well.' _A brief exchange of gunshots interrupted Barlow then stopped.

'_That must have been Marsh. Guess those Talon Company guys found him. Don't know if they'll find me. I managed to hide inside a supply closet and jammed the lock. If I can keep quiet and stop the bleeding, maybe I can make it out of here and back to the Citadel. Report what's gone down. If I don't, then I'm leaving this holotape behind for anyone who finds it. Take it back to the Brotherhood. They'll know what to do with it.' _The message ended and Hullum dropped the object, drawing his rifle as he stood.

'We're leaving.' Hullum said quietly, staring down at the corpse of Barlow. He and Scott emerged from the outpost to find the mercenaries they had come with arranged in a semi-circle in front of the entrance, guns trained outwards. They rose when Hullum gave the order and followed him back into the subway tunnels.

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 1603 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The Great Hall was silent as Hullum played the final message from Barlow to Owyn, Sarah, some of their troops and a few people dressed in red robes called Scribes. Scott was stood at the back of the room, waiting for access to the files he'd requested.

'_Take it back to the Brotherhood. They'll know what to do with it.' _Hullum ended the recording and produced the two dog tags he'd taken from the bodies of Barlow and Marsh, placing them on the desk in front of him.

'Sarah I want the Pride ready to move on a moment's notice.' Owyn eventually said, staring at the two tags. 'When we find the Talon Company base, you'll be leading the attack.'

'Yes, father.' She replied.

'I can't think of where they're based, though.' One of the Scribes, Rothchild if Scott remembered correctly, put forward. 'We drove them out of Fort Bannister five years ago, and still they manage to rearm and resupply from somewhere.'

'We'll find it.' Sarah promised.

'What's their motivation though?' Hullum asked, looking up at everyone. 'They've never directly attacked a Brotherhood position in all the years you've known about them. The only time they do is when you cross paths out in the wastes. So why change that after thirty years?'

'To put us on a defensive stance, maybe?' Rothchild offered. 'Ever since Fort Bannister, we've been on the offensive against them. An attack like this on a remote outpost could be the beginning in a new campaign to erode our influence over DC.'

'Or make us increase our deployments.' A soldier thought aloud. He was part of Sarah's team, a specialist by the name of Gallows. 'We're already stretching manpower to keep the ruins Mutant free. Talon Company knows this and if they make it look like they're making a move, we'd have to increase the troops we have out in the field to deal with it.'

'Which would place an additional strain on resources and leave the Citadel understaffed.' Hullum summarised. Gallows nodded. 'Pretty smart move for a bunch of opportunistic mercs.'

'But like you said, what's their motivation?' Sarah asked. 'Talon Company has always gone after the biggest reward. Any kind of fight with the Brotherhood would be costly in terms of both men and materials. Having a load of caps is nice and all, but you can't spend it when you're dead.'

'Maybe it's about getting even.' Scott said, making everyone turn to look at him. 'You've dealt these mercenaries a series of crippling blows, correct?' They all nodded. 'Then this attack could be retribution for what the Brotherhood has done to them.'

'That's... actually a fair point.' Owyn said. 'Revenge is a great motivator.'

'Yeah.' Hullum agreed. 'It is.'

'But we don't know for sure.' Rothchild countered. 'This could just be an isolated incident or they're being paid to upset the balance of power in the Capital Wasteland.'

'Either way, we need to respond.' Owyn ordered. 'Sarah, you and the Pride go to Vernon Square and try to find any signs of where Talon Company went. Hullum, speak with the merchants in Canterbury Commons, see if they've noticed anything unusual along their routes. Rothchild, I want you to go over any maps we have and-' Before he could give any more commands, Owyn began coughing violently, going red in the face. Instantly Sarah moved to aid him whilst Rothchild got up and moved towards one the yellow barrels Scott had seen dotted around the Pentagon. He unscrewed the top of it and produced a glass from a nearby table. Two Brotherhood troops helped tip the barrel over and a trickle of water poured out. When the glass was full, Rothchild handed it to Sarah who gave it to her father. Owyn took a few sips of the offered drink and slowly stopped coughing.

'He doesn't sound too healthy.' Tara whispered. Scott gave a barely imperceptible nod as he helped the Brotherhood soldiers right the barrel. As he did, a warning popped up on his HUD, the armour having identified something dangerous.

'Alert! Explosive residue detected.' Tara announced with a tone of urgency in her voice. She brought up a graph showing a chart Scott couldn't hope to understand, trying to identify the compound. 'Analysis indicates the explosive is a variant of C4.'

'How sure are you?' he asked.

'ARGUS unit confirms the presence of explosives.' She said. Scott stopped the two men from screwing the lid on the barrel and withdrew his fibre-optic probe. They both gave him strange looks from behind their helmets but said nothing, even when the Spartan submerged the probe into the water and attached the other end to his helmet. Tara shifted his HUD to display the video feed, enhancing the image as Scott scanned the inside of the barrel. A rock formed in his gut when he saw a medium sized package at the bottom wrapped in plastic and attached to a radio of some kind.

'That the source of the C4?' he whispered.

'Yes.' Tara confirmed. 'Trace amounts are diffusing into the water surrounding it. The radio must be a remote trigger of some kind.'

'No shit.' Scott said. He looked over it and saw a faint red light coming from the radio. 'Can you lock onto its signal?'

'Possibly, if I knew what it was.' The AI replied. 'But this is a receiver, not a transmitter. The best course of dealing with it would be to either evacuate or drain the barrel and attempt to defuse the bomb.' Scott withdrew the probe and stowed it back in his armour, the video snapping off as he straightened.

'What exactly are you doing?' Sarah asked as he span to face the room.

'There's a bomb in this barrel, linked to a remote detonator that could go off at any point.' He explained. 'We need to evacuate everyone now.'

A bomb?' Rothchild repeated, looking incredulous. Scott rolled his eyes and turned back to the barrel, punching through the thin metal wall and allowing the water to spill out. When it was drained, he widened the gap so it was big enough to pull the lump of C4 through. Scott held it up for everyone to see, freezing when he heard a small bleep come from the radio.

'Picking up an activation signal.' Tara announced in a calm voice.

'MOVE!' Scott yelled, dropping the explosive as the others ran for the exit. The Scribes and Owyn went first, followed by Sarah and her troops, leaving Hullum and Scott inside the Great Hall. The Spartan grabbed Hullum by his armour and launched him out of the room. Scott managed to make it into the doorway just as the device detonated. The explosion threw him though the air to collide with the opposite wall. Scott's last conscious memory was of falling down a set of stairs and a series of additional explosions.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Seven

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 1613 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The first thing Scott registered as he woke up was a sharp pain in his chest. Which was good because it meant he wasn't dead. The second thing he registered was a dull whine. This meant he wasn't deaf. Then the Spartan became aware of someone taping on some glass and a feminine voice calling out to him.

'Commander, can you hear me?' the voice was saying. 'Commander, say something.'

'Status.' Scott coughed, opening his eyes. He was lying face down at the bottom of a stairwell, surrounded by rubble and liberal amounts of dust. None of the lights were working properly with barely one on, leaving the area in darkness, and from somewhere above, he heard a near constant exchange of gunfire and the occasional explosion.

'Oh, good. You're awake.' Tara said. 'Seven bombs detonated in quick succession, starting with the one in the Great Hall, and you were thrown down these stairs.' Scott pushed himself up, wincing slightly when he took a deep breath. 'You have two broken ribs, one bruised, and a minor concussion.

'You're perfectly alright.' The AI declared as the Spartan shook his head clear and felt through the rubble for his rifle. It had come loose in the fall and was now half buried under a mound of plaster. Scott dug it out and checked the weapon for damage. Aside from a few scratches, it was fine.

'How long was I out?' Scott checked the rest of his equipment had survived unscathed, paying particular attention to his pistol and the remaining magazines for both weapons.

'A little under two minutes.' Tara told him. 'In that time, an unknown force engaged the Brotherhood soldiers in the courtyard and from the sounds of things are slowly winning.' Another explosion sounded, shaking dust from the ceiling as Scott stood and nestled his rifle against his shoulder. 'Sounds like they could use our help.'

'It does.' Scott agreed, activating his night vision and moving up the stairs. At the top, he paused and glanced at the wall he had collided with. There was a large dent in a vaguely human shape. He shifted his gaze to the Great Hall, or what remained of it. The blast that had sent Scott flying had caused the roof to cave in on the room, effectively burying it.

'Whoever planted that bomb must have been incredibly lucky.' Tara observed.

'Or well informed.' Scott countered. 'You said this was the first to blow, right?'

'Right.' Tara said after a moment's consideration.

'Everyone in there made up the Brotherhood's command structure or was part of their elite troops.' He moved closer to the room. 'Take them out, and organising an effective counter-assault becomes that bit more difficult.' Outside the sounds battle grew more intense. 'I get the feeling the attack on the outpost was intended to get them all in here at the same time.'

'Which points to a highly detailed and intricate plan of attack.' Tara finished. 'Not exactly something you'd expect from mercenaries.'

'No.' Scott said. 'You wouldn't.' He turned away from the wreckage and made for the door leading up into the courtyard. Several bullet holes peppered the surface and it was hanging off one hinge. The Spartan pushed it open and dropped to a crouch, rifle at the ready, as he searched the open space for Hullum. It was difficult as half a dozen separate fire fights had erupted between the surviving Brotherhood soldiers and a larger force of men wearing jet black armour. Each side was giving it their all but Scott could see the Brotherhood was slowly being whittled down. For every man they cut down, three more took his place. For man the mercenaries cut down, there were no replacements.

'Tara, can you still pick up Hullum's Pip-Boy signal?' Scott half asked, half yelled as he took cover behind a small wall.

'Of course, Commander.' She replied. Instantly a waypoint popped up onto Scott's HUD, directing him to the other side of the space. He peered over his cover and saw the man adding his own input into the fight, firing his skeletal rifle in bursts of three with unnerving accuracy. With him were Sarah and the soldier called Gallows. Of Rothchild and Owyn there was no sign.

'Radio the _Heavy _and let them know we need some assistance.' The Spartan ordered, pulling out one of his grenades. He waited for a momentary lull in the fighting then primed and threw the fragmentation device in the direction of the attacking force then jumped over the wall and ran for Hullum. The grenade detonated amid cries of surprise which turned to screams of pain as Scott sprinted straight through the battle, the occasional round connecting with him and making his shields flare. He ducked and weaved as best he could to avoid being hit and eventually slammed into cover next to Hullum, popping up and adding his firepower to the mix.

'Status!' Scott yelled, using short controlled bursts to take down a few of the attacking mercenaries.

'Talon Company made a move on the entrance and took out the crane before we could drop the barricade.' Hullum shouted back. He fired another three round burst then reloaded. 'After that was gone, they stormed the courtyard and established a foothold. We've been fighting the bastards off ever since.'

'_Heavy Hitter _standing by, Commander.' Tara announced. 'I have Captain McNeal on the line.'

'Patch him through.' Scott ordered, closing off his external speakers. There was a brief crackle of static as Tara activated the MJOLNIR's communications suite. 'Captain?'

'_Here, Spartan.' _The naval officer replied. '_Give me a sitrep, Commander.'_

'A large group of mercenaries have attacked the Pentagon in force and breached the outer walls.' Scott clipped a man in the head, killing him, and reloaded his now empty magazine. 'Friendly forces are surrounded and in danger of being overrun. We cannot hold out for long.'

'_Acknowledged.' _McNeal said. '_Help is inbound. ETA thirty minutes.'_

'Copy that.' Scott ended the transmission. 'Tara, start a countdown timer set for thirty minutes.'

'Aye, Commander.' A small timer appeared in the lower right hand corner of the Spartan's HUD and began counting down. Scott reactivated his speakers and turned to Hullum.

'How long can we hold out for?' he asked.

'Not much longer.' Hullum replied, slamming a fresh magazine in. 'I'm running low on 5.56mm and we're down to about twenty soldiers. Talon Company doesn't seem to have an end to either.' The two of them braced behind their barricade as a fresh salvo of bullets struck the outer surface then came back up and returned fire.

'Best guess on how long?' Scott wondered.

'Ten minutes, maybe less.' Hullum said. Next to him Sarah was firing her rifle in a triple tap similar to Hullum before the bolt cycled open.

'I'm out.' She said, drawing a pistol.

'Me too.' Gallows added, dropping a sniper rifle. Scott did a check on his own ammunition situation. He had ten spare magazines for the assault rifle and a further four for the pistol alongside three frag grenades.

'I got three clips left.' Hullum said. To their left, another Brotherhood soldier fell. 'We need to try and force them out.'

'How?' Sarah demanded. 'They have us outmanned, outgunned and pinned down. With what are we supposed to fight them off with?'

'I don't know!' Hullum snapped. 'But if we don't, the Citadel is going to fall.' At that moment, a mercenary wielding a bulky shoulder mounted weapon appeared, aimed at the four, and fired. Scott watched as a missile erupted from the barrel and came straight for them.

'Down!' he yelled, tackling Hullum and the others to the ground just as the rocket impacted the cover they were hiding behind. Flames and shrapnel washed over them, some striking Scott and draining his shields by a quarter. They had begun to recharge as he and the others rose.

'What the hell was that?' Hullum asked, noticing the orange aura surrounding Scott.

'A missile strike.' The Spartan answered, sending an extended burst towards the operator of the heavy weapon, not noticing the stares of Hullum and the others.

'No, that weird glow just now.' Sarah clarified.

'Oh.' Scott looked at the three. 'Recharging energy shield.' They all ducked as more shots peppered their position. 'We need to move to a more defendable position.'

'Where though?' Hullum responded, focusing back on the attack. 'They've broken through the main gates and it's only a matter of time before they take us down.' Scott glanced at his timer just as it hit twenty-six minutes.

'Inside.' He suddenly said. 'It would funnel their men into tight spaces and provide you with an opportunity to regroup, rearm and set up some solid defences.' Hullum looked to Sarah.

'Sounds good.' She said. 'Gallows, head down the line and pass the order to fall back inside. Give priority to the wounded. Tell those with any ammo left to provide cover fire until they're gone. Understood?'

'Yes, ma'am.' He left and made his way to the various groups of Brotherhood soldiers. Sarah turned to Hullum and Scott.

'You two are on rearguard. Wait until we're all gone then follow. Hold off the mercs until then.' She handed Hullum her pistol and spare magazines. 'I'm going inside to try and organise a defence. Good luck.' With that, Sarah turned and sprinted for the door leading into the interior ahead of the wounded, Gallows close behind.

'Looks like we're on our, Spartan.' Hullum said, laying his pistols and magazines on the floor. It was a pitiful sight. Between the two guns, he had eleven clips in total not including the ones already loaded. Scott raised his rifle and continued firing in bursts, taking down five more mercenaries. Hullum joined him soon after as he emptied the last two full magazines for his rifle into the oncoming force before snatching up the pistols and began firing them. Scott glanced at his timer. It read seventeen minutes.

'Tara, what kind of help is the _Heavy _sending?' he asked.

'ODSTs and Longsword bombers.' She said, producing an overhead map marked with various legends. 'The ODSTs are attempting to land within the courtyard and provide immediate support whilst the Longswords are being directed to saturate-bomb the nearby area. I recommend being inside when it happens.'

'Noted.' Scott emptied his magazine in a series of bursts, taking down maybe four men and reloaded. 'Which is arriving first? The ODSTs or the Longswords?'

'The ODSTs.' Tara shut down the map as Hullum slammed his last full clips into place.

'How you doing?' he asked.

'Fine.' Scott answered, throwing his second to last grenade. 'How many soldiers are left outside?'

'Three, not including us.' Hullum said, taking careful aim and downing one mercenary after the other with headshots until he was out of ammo for everything. 'I'm bone dry.'

'Then go.' Scott ordered. 'I'll hold them off until you and the others are inside.' The Spartan ducked slightly as a fresh barrage of bullets hit his shields, making them shimmer once more. Hullum opened his mouth, either to object or ask about the shields, but closed it and nodded.

'See you on the other side, Spartan.' He scooped up his weapons and sprinted for the three remaining Brotherhood troops. Scott watched him go on his motion tracker as he continued to fend of Talon Company. By now they had made another push into the courtyard, no longer in much danger due to the lack of incoming fire, and took up positions with better concealment.

'All friendly forces evacuated, Commander.' Tara announced. 'I recommend following them.'

'Sounds like a good plan.' The Spartan threw his final grenade, waited for it explode, then sprinted for the doorway. Instantly the mercenaries opened fire. Scott's shields drained to a fraction under the onslaught and a warning began to blare as they finally failed, leaving his armour vulnerable. Rounds ricocheted off the hardened plates or simply shattered and for once, Scott wasn't worried about the lack of a protective barrier with his shields downed. The Spartan skidded to a halt as he passed the threshold of the door and leapt down the stairs, creating a small crater when he landed, and drew his rifle. Hullum was waiting for him, a sack in one hand, and stared as the MJOLNIR's shields recharged. When they were finished, he snapped out of his daze and reached into the bag, producing a small tan disc.

'Frag mines.' He said, answering Scott's questioning look. 'Head down the stairs. They're setting up for round two. I'll leave a little surprise for our friends and rig the wall to blow.'

'Got it.' Scott jogged down the stairs he had been thrown down earlier, passing two Brotherhood troops wielding shotguns, and entered a capacious room filled with varying pieces of equipment. People were moving to and fro, but what caught Scott's eye the most was a partially built robot.

'Tara...' Scott began to say.

'Scanning.' The AI finished. 'No matches to anything in the UNSC database.'

'Figured.' Scott muttered. Making his way over to Sarah as she gave a trio of people orders. The little timer in his HUD entered the final ten minutes. 'What's the situation?'

'We've got maybe fifteen or so Knights and Paladins who are combat ready and another eight who can fight from a fixed position. Everyone else is too wounded or a Scribe.' Sarah waved at the room, looking less than confident. 'If Talon Company manages to break through to here, we're finished. Aside from the Brotherhood troops out in DC, this is all that's left.'

'_If _they make it through.' Scott countered. 'Don't forget they've got to get past me, you, Hullum and all of your men to make that happen.' He cricked his neck and rolled his shoulders. 'And from what I've seen, that's more than enough to stop a bunch of mercenaries.' Sarah gave a wan smile at this.

'Glad to see one of us is optimistic.' She said. 'Now, I don't suppose you can help set up some barricades?'

Of course, ma'am.' Scott holstered his rifle and went to help move a set of battered filing cabinets into a semi-circle at the bottom of one stairwell.

'What's with the speech?' Tara asked.

'She's their commanding officer.' Scott said, deactivating his external speakers. 'It wouldn't do morale any good to see her believing it's the end.'

'I guess.' Tara conceded. 'Still, we've got ODSTs and Longswords inbound to help defend the Pentagon. Morale wouldn't be down for too long.'

'Yeah. But then we've got to explain how they appeared.' Scott gave a small grunt as he lifted one cabinet and placed it on top of another then began pulling the draws out. A Brotherhood soldier began filling the interior with rubble to help block bullets.

'We could always tell the truth.' The AI offered. 'They must know our technology is far beyond anything they could ever hope to create.'

'And what exactly _is _the truth?' Scott asked, lifting a third cabinet up. 'We're on Earth, headquarters of the UNSC, and nobody has ever heard of it.' He dumped the metal container down and started the process of bullet-proofing it all over again. 'In fact, we don't even fully know what happened here.' Overhead there was a sharp boom, making dust fall and lights flicker, and everyone paused to look up.

'Hullum.' Scott guessed as activity resumed.

'But we do know what happened.' Tara shot back, continuing their previous conversation. 'A nuclear war.'

'Yes, but we also know it couldn't have happened.' The Spartan finished filling the cabinet and went to find something else to do to help. 'The UNSC has control of all nuclear weapons and would never launch them at itself.'

'Yet look around you.' Tara argued as Scott took a heavy crate of grenades from a Scribe and carried them through to a dining area, setting them down against several more. The room was right at the end of a corridor and seemed to be acting as a very last line of defence. In the smaller rooms branching off the hall were the badly wounded and Scott could see the blue robes of Owyn. 'This is Earth, star positions confirm it, and a nuclear war occurred.'

'I know.' Scott hissed, picking up four boxes filled with ammunition. 'And the _Heavy _was here less than six _months _ago but these people say they've been here _years.' _A Scribe directed him to take the boxes to the same as the grenades. 'The ship's records show that there was a UNSC presence and atmosphere readings were normal.'

'So how do you explain this?' Tara asked, pulling up a slideshow of all the things they had seen and displayed them in rapid succession.

'How do you?' Scott asked back, causing the AI to fall silent and get rid of the pictures. He placed the boxes down and sighed. 'Until we get access to the records, let's just drop this and focus on surviving until help gets here. Okay?'

'Okay, Commander.' Tara said. 'ODST forces should be here within two minutes.'

'Can you pick up their SQUADCOM yet?'

'Just faint signals so far.' Tara told him, producing a graph filled with a thin line. Occasionally it would spike and Scott noticed it was occurring with greater frequency. 'I'll patch you through when I can.' There were more explosions coming from above, though they were smaller and not as power as the last.

'The frag mines.' Scott said to himself, making a beeline for Sarah. She turned to face him and nodded, recognising the sounds for what they were.

'They're here.' She stated.

'Where's Hullum?' The Spartan wondered, drawing his rifle. Sarah did the same.

'I don't know. Last I saw, he was heading back up with a bag of mines. Right before you showed up.' They both looked to the stairwell Scott had come down, hoping to catch a glimpse of the missing man.

'I'll go look for him.' Scott said, not waiting for Sarah to reply. 'You just focus on getting this place ready for an assault.' He left her and climbed the stairs leading to the upper level.

'SQUADCOM acquired.' Tara announced. 'Patching you through.'

'This is Sierra One-Two-Four to the ODST squad dropping in.' Scott called out. 'Can you hear me?'

'_Yeah, we hear ya.' _A gruff sounding soldier answered. _'Gunnery Sergeant Evan Mitchell of Alpha Squad reporting. What kind of a party we gate crashing?'_

'Unknown numbers of hostiles are trying to force their way into the Pentagon and have inflicted heavy casualties on friendly forces. We're in danger of being overrun.'

'_Got it. Standard Helljumper situation.' _Mitchell said. '_Troopers, get set to come out swinging. Our objective is to fight our way through to the Spartan and hold of the enemy until Longswords can paste 'em.'_ A chorus of acknowledgements filtered over the radio as Scott managed to make it to the top of the stairs. He saw Hullum crouched in the shadows and waved. Hullum waved back and motioned for Scott to join him opposite the stairs leading into the courtyard. The dismembered bodies of several Talon Company mercenaries littered the floor.

'Got to love frag mines.' Hullum whispered. 'Cover them up with a bit of dust and plaster; dumb bastards never see them until it's too late.'

'Is that why they aren't making an attempt on the door?' Scott whispered back.

'I think so.' Hullum nodded to the bag he'd originally brought up, now half empty. 'Took about eight out with the wall mounted bomb and then I sat back to watch them go pop on the hot potatoes. They're either trying to work the courage up to try again or are deciding to wait us out.'

'Are there still mines set up?' Scott asked.

'Yeah. Why wouldn't there be?' Hullum looked confused, which only grew as the sound of HEV braking rockets filled the air.

'Because we need to move them. Now.' Scott rose from his crouch, dragging Hullum along, and started throwing the discs out of the door and into the courtyard. Quite a few exploded after they landed but were drowned out by the sudden yells of surprise and fear coming from the mercenaries as a dozen bangs sounded followed by another dozen. Gunfire came soon after.

'What the fuck is going on?' Hullum yelled.

'Help just got here.' Scott answered, clearing the last mine and drew his rifle. 'Get back into the room with the others and tell them to keep their heads down. It's about to get noisy.' The Spartan charged out of the doorway and back into the courtyard as twelve ODSTs engaged and cut down the Talon Company mercenaries unlucky enough to be there.

'Gunny, over here!' Scott broadcasted on an open channel, activating a waypoint as he shot down the nearest targets. 'Hurry.'

'Got it, Commander.' Mitchell replied. 'Troopers, form up on the Spartan and get your asses below ground. Air support is hot on our heels.' The twelve soldiers neatly cut a path through the less equipped and trained mercenaries and were soon filing past Scott. All but three were armed with MA5Cs. Of the three, two carried BR55HB SR battle rifles and the last held an M7 submachine gun. The marksmen and the medic respectively. They all paused at the bottom of the stairs and each drew a single grenade with Mitchell handing one to the Spartan. Hullum had vanished back into the stronghold.

'On three.' Scott ordered, prompting every man to raise their grenades ready to throw. 'Three!' Thirteen primed explosives sailed out of the entrance and landed amidst the confused and shocked mercenaries, detonating in a wall of fire and shrapnel seconds later.

'Longswords are ninety seconds out.' Tara announced, broadcasting on the SQUADCOM. 'I recommend moving below.'

'Acknowledged.' Scott said. 'Gunny, have your men prep the door with a mine then head downstairs.'

'Aye, sir.' He turned to his squad. 'Joey, I want that door rigged to blow. Franks, cover him. The rest of you, follow the Spartan. We've got wounded needing attention.' The two men tasked with setting up the mine stayed behind as Scott led the remaining ten into the underground room.

'Hold your fire!' He called out. 'Friendly coming through.' The Spartan edged around the door at the bottom of the stairs and waved at the three Brotherhood soldiers positioned at the barricade. They relaxed when they saw who it was but became tense at the sight of the ODSTs.

'They're with me.' Scott assured them. He nodded at Mitchell and the others, giving them the go ahead.

'Alpha Squad, let's lend a hand.' Mitchell ordered, dispersing his men with a series of hand signals. The medic immediately went from man to man, checking for injuries before a Scribe directed him to the infirmary. Joey and Franks appeared a short while later.

'Mine in place, Gunny.' Joey reported.

'Good. Go see if Leo needs some help with the wounded.' Mitchell stayed close to Scott as he walked over to Hullum and Sarah. Both were staring at the ODSTs as they went about their tasks.

'Where did they come from?' Sarah whispered.

'Long story.' Scott said.

'Bombing run commencing in ten seconds.' Tara warned.

'But if I were you,' he continued. 'I'd cover my ears and brace.' The pair just continued to stare as Scott and the Marines did just that, standing under doorways or wrapping their arms protectively over their heads. Hullum and Sarah looked at each other then did the same as a low rumble from overhead started up and a keen whistling noise filled the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Eight

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 1654 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The air inside the room was quiet as Scott and the ODSTs dusted themselves down following the bombing run. It had lasted less than five minutes but shaken the Pentagon as though it was an earthquake, causing dozens of tiles to fall from the ceiling. The Brotherhood people stared at the Helljumpers in bewilderment, stunned by their appearance and sudden arrival. Scott and Mitchell were still stood in front of Hullum and Sarah who wore similar expression of disbelief.

'Who are you people?' Sarah eventually asked as the shock wore off, voice just above a whisper.

'The UNSC.' Scott answered. 'But explanations are going to have to wait. We still need to clear the courtyard of mercenaries and deal with the wounded. When that's done, then we can discuss who we are.' The Spartan turned to Mitchell. 'Detail two of your men to provide first aid to the wounded then have the rest form up topside. And if they can spare it, I need some ammo.' Scott produced three spare magazines for his rifle, his only remaining ones.

'Yes, sir.' The gunnery sergeant handed the Spartan a clip as he switched to SQUADCOM. 'Leo, you and Chang are playing doctor to the wounded. Everyone else, on me. We need to secure the courtyard above. And as you go past, the Commander could do with a resupply.' The troopers gave varying replies and moved to carry out their orders, giving Scott a single magazine each. He thanked them in turn and followed as they climbed the stairs leading back to the courtyard. Hullum and Sarah, along with the remaining Brotherhood soldiers, followed soon after.

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**in orbit around Earth. 1659 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

It had been over twenty-four hours since the ship had arrived at Earth and the subsequent battle with the UFO had damaged the starboard engine, and McNeal hoped the engineering crew had been able to perform some repairs. He paused outside the doors leading into the engine room, easily the largest space aboard the ship if McNeal didn't count the hangars, then keyed them open. Instantly, a symphony of barked orders, welding and curses assaulted him.

'For God's sake, Sam. I told you to cut it there, not here.' One particularly loud and angry voice yelled. 'Go back, and do it the right way. If you mess up and there's a radiation leak, I will personally use your arse as shielding.' McNeal made his way into the compartment, turning the collar of his service uniform up to protect against stray sparks, and centred on the owner of the voice.

'Senior Chief Tech Officer Graham Clarke?' McNeal asked, tapping a grease covered man in overalls as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper.

'Yeah, that's me.' Clarke said, not bothering to turn around. 'And if you want something, you're gonna have to get to wait. I've got to not only check on the new welds on the primary fuel line, but now I've got to make sure we don't all get fried by radiation.' He scrunched the paper up and picked up another, using a well worn pencil to jot a rough drawing of something down before throwing it away as well. McNeal tapped Clarke's shoulder again.

'Look, I have got three different people wanting me to wipe their arses so if you don't mind-' Clarke span around to berate McNeal but stopped mid-sentence when he recognised the senior naval officer, hastily coming to attention, snapping off a clumsy salute. 'Captain McNeal, sir.' McNeal returned the salute.

'At ease, Chief.' He ordered, glancing around at the various men and women working to fix what they could. 'Seems like you're rushed off your feet in here.'

'That's putting it delicately, sir.' Clarke placed his pad of paper in a pocket and stuck the pencil behind one ear. McNeal looked over the senior technician, noting the different stains adorning his clothes and the faint bags underneath Clarke's eyes, the only indicators that he hadn't slept since the _Heavy _became damaged. 'Everyone is trying their best to get the ship repaired but without spare parts, we've had to resort to bodge jobs.' He led the officer over to a small section of the room where various lathes, millers and work benches had been set up. 'If it's damaged, we fix it. If it can't be fixed, we make a work around. And it all comes from here.' Several technicians were stood at the various machines building or modifying different components.

'Where did you get the materials for everything?' McNeal asked, noticing a few dollies nearby.

'Where didn't we?' Clarke answered, leading McNeal away from the temporary workshop and to a quieter section of the room. 'Pelicans, Longswords, Warthogs, Hornets. Pretty much anything that moves or uses hydrogen as a fuel source, we've cannibalised parts from and adapted to work with the main engines.'

'Have you made much progress?'

'Some.' Clarke shrugged. 'The starboard engine is bollocksed, no hope of ever getting it up and running any time soon, though we did manage to boost the thrust of the three remaining engines a little. Should give us about fifty-seven percent, maybe more if you push the reactors over into the red zone.' To their left, the sound of something being dropped cut through the engine room and Clarke immediately snapped his head round, searching out the source.

'Jones, please tell me you didn't drop the fuel regulator for the port nav thruster again.' Clarke half groaned, half asked. The technician in question quickly said no, instead pointing to a lump of burnt metal on the floor.

'I was helping to move some of the slag from starboard engine to the workshop, see if they could use any of it.' Jones replied, stooping to pick the lump back up. 'And the regulator was covered in grease! How was I supposed to keep a hold of it?'

'Use a dolly.' Another technician offered as activity resumed. Jones said something in response as Clarke ran both hands through his hair, moaning.

'Oh, I don't get paid enough to deal with this.' He muttered.

'None of us do, Chief.' McNeal said. 'So aside from giving us an increase in thrust, what other repairs has been made?'

'Bits and bobs.' Clarke shrugged. 'The beam from the UFO created some kind of EMP effect which shorted out a number of systems, mostly the computers which controlled fuel regulation, and we've replaced over half the damaged components already. As for the slipspace drive, it's proved to be more complicated than we originally though.' Clarke's face took on a frown as did McNeal's, the senior naval officer not looking forward to what the technician had to say next.

'How complicated?' he asked.

'When the EMP hit the drive, it burnt out the circuits which regulate power flow and allowed over three times the maximum safe limit to enter the drive before the backup could kick in.' Clarke explained. 'Now as far as I can tell, it was down to sheer dumb luck that the ship didn't instantly jump to slipspace or explode. Instead, the energy just fried the selenium and technetium inside.'

'The what?' McNeal asked. Despite having been assigned to ship operation, McNeal had never learnt what was used in the construction of slipspace drives. All he knew was that they were costly to build and difficult to maintain.

'Selenium and technetium.' Clarke repeated, leaning against the wall. 'They're two elements used to build important parts of a slipspace drive. With them, a drive works just fine. Without them, the drive's useless. Guess which ours is.'

'Useless.' McNeal said. Clarke nodded. 'Can't the drive work without them?'

'No.' Clarke said. 'And we can't create a work around either. We need actual samples of selenium and technetium to fully repair the slipspace drive. Until then, we're not jumping anywhere.' McNeal sighed.

'Very well, Chief. Carry on with the repairs and get as much done as you can. I'll look into getting the selenium and technetium for the drive.' McNeal turned and left the senior technician who pulled out his pad and pencil once the officer was gone, drawing yet another diagram.

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**in orbit around Earth. 1710 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'Sasha, situation update please.' Since leaving engineering, McNeal had gone straight to the bridge and settled in the command chair. Aside from Sasha, the only other person there was Lieutenant Franks, seated in front of his station.

'Longswords report successful bombing runs and all ODSTs managed to make it to the Pentagon without suffering a loss.' The AI answered, her avatar's arms folded across its chest in boredom. 'They are currently engaged in clearing the inner courtyard of any remaining hostiles.' Both officers shifted their gazes when the forward viewscreen snapped on, displaying a live overhead feed of the Pentagon. It was hard to see on the video, but on one side were maybe two dozen men dressed in jet black armour whilst the other showed a larger and more diverse group. McNeal could see the familiar suits of the Helljumpers and even the armour of the Spartan, especially when something struck the shields and made them glow. Spread amongst them were the Brotherhood of Steel troops outfitted with their bulky suits.

'Wonder how those guys are reacting to the sight of the Helljumpers.' Murphy thought aloud.

'Who knows?' McNeal said. 'Though it's going to be difficult explaining where they come from if they're supposed to be based in Canada.'

'Canada, eh?' Murphy swivelled in his chair to face McNeal, lounging against his station. 'How did we end up there?'

'It was a cover created by Sierra One-Two-Four when he met with an Elder Owyn Lyons, hoping to avoid any lengthy discussions about his true origins.' Sasha interjected. 'The Lieutenant Commander felt it was better for all involved if the Brotherhood of Steel believed he had come by foot, not HEV.'

'Well, the ODSTs have pretty much blown it.' The communications officer said. 'Unless the Spartan has one hell of a silver tongue.' Onscreen, the battle continued as the UNSC troops lead the Brotherhood soldiers forward in a final move to push the mercenaries out of the courtyard.

'Whatever he tells them, we go along with it until we have the parts and equipment necessary to fix the _Heavy_.'

'But when the slipspace drive is fixed, where do we go?' Murphy questioned. 'I can't pick up any UNSC signals, which means there aren't any UNSC outposts, ships or satellites anywhere.'

'We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Lieutenant.' McNeal said, sounding nonchalant but inside he felt uneasy. There had to be an explanation for the Earth, and the lack of a UNSC presence. McNeal ruled out the Covenant because when they attacked a planet and won, the surface was bombarded with plasma until it was turned to glass. There was no evidence of that on Earth, meaning the alien alliance wasn't to blame. He also discarded the idea of a rebel attack, as they didn't even have the resources needed to put a dent into the UNSC Homefleet let alone lay waste to the planet below. So what had caused the devastation?

'Incoming planetside transmission.' Sasha announced, interrupting McNeal's train of thought as Murphy span his chair around to work the communication console.

'Heavy Hitter, _this is SPARTAN-B124, do you copy?' _Murphy tapped in a few commands, trying the scrub the transmission before answering.

'SPARTAN-B124, this is the _Heavy Hitter_. We copy you.' Murphy said. 'What's your status?'

'_Green.' _Scott replied. '_Area secured, no UNSC casualties, and Alpha Squad is moving to provide medical aid for the wounded Brotherhood personnel.'_

'How many are hurt?' McNeal asked, standing behind the communications console.

'_More than a few, sir. At least seventy percent of their forces stationed in the Pentagon are either wounded or dead. The ODSTs are doing what they can but really we need doctors to deal with it all.'_

'Should we lend a hand, sir?' Murphy questioned, looking up at McNeal.

'I don't know.' He cupped his chin with one hand, staring at the monitor as it displayed the signal strength of the Spartan's transmission. 'Commander, what does the Brotherhood know about us?'

'_I'm not entirely sure, sir, but they must have suspicions about our origins.'_

'Have you maintained the cover of being Canadian?' Murphy wondered.

'_For the moment. Though I doubt it'll last much longer.' _There was a pause. '_What should I say if pressed about the presence of the Helljumpers?'_

'The truth, I guess.' McNeal offered. 'We can't keep the facade up for much longer, and sooner or later we'll have to establish a larger presence on the ground to obtain the parts needed.'

'_Yes, sir.' _Scott said. '_What about the injured?'_

'Continue to treat them.' McNeal said. 'I'll organise a flight of Pelicans loaded with medical personnel and supplies to be sent down. Just tell your hosts they're coming in.'

'_Aye aye, sir.' _The Spartan ended the communication as Murphy turned to face the Captain.

'You sure about all this, sir?' he asked. 'I mean, we still don't know what happened to the Earth and the Brotherhood isn't exactly an ally.'

'I'm not sure about anything, Lieutenant. But the Brotherhood has the records we need and until we get them, they'll be treated as allies.' McNeal sat back down in his command chair, activating the intercom and contacted the medical deck. 'Lieutenant Farnsworth?'

'_Here, sir.' _She answered.

'Prep your team for dealing with mass wounded and load it onto Pelicans,' He consulted with Sasha. 'Charlie 20, 21 and 22. You have fifteen minutes.'

'_Aye, sir.' _Anna ended the link on her end as McNeal stood and made his way out of the bridge and towards the armoury.

**Aboard Pelican Charlie 021**_**, **_**in descent to Earth. 1727 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The dropship was unusually quiet as it dropped to the surface, its passengers holding onto their harnesses tightly as they passed through a patch of turbulence. Captain McNeal tried to keep his breathing regular but found it difficult. He had always had a strong dislike of flying, bordering on a phobia of it, and the shuddering craft did nothing to ease his fears.

'You alright, Captain?' a nearby warrant officer inquired, noticing the officer's distress.

'I will be.' McNeal said, bracing as the Pelican shook again. 'Just as soon as we get planetside.' This caused a few laughs amongst the others but they left it at that.

'Five minutes to dirt.' The pilot, Wright, called out. He loosely held the controls as they levelled out and flew over the ruined city. Either side of them, the other two Pelicans did the same as the medical crew began checking over their equipment fastened to the floor. McNeal didn't have any, all he had was some borrowed armour and a pistol.

'Popping the hatch.' Wright announced as the rear door opened with a faint whir, revealing the devastation of the city to the occupants. 'Two minutes to dirt. Repeat, two to dirt.' McNeal and the others waited until the Pelican banked once more and slowed before unclipping their restraints. He stood and held onto a nearby handhold as the dropship swooped over the outer wall of the Pentagon, coming to a halt in mid-air before descending to the ground. McNeal was the first off, eager to have solid ground under his feet, and looked around in an attempt to spot the Spartan.

'Captain McNeal, sir.' Scott called out, striding forward from some corner of the courtyard. He came to attention and delivered a crisp salute.

'At ease, Commander.' McNeal said. Behind them, the medical team began unloading their supplies to make room for the other two Pelicans. 'How are things?'

'Good, sir.' Scott clasped both hands behind his back. 'The ODSTs have helped reinforce the recently rebuilt defences and are still treating the wounded.' Two figures appeared from a doorway, one clad in the heavy armour of the Brotherhood and the other in crude plating, and stayed close to the wall, watching. McNeal glanced at them and the Spartan caught the movement.

'Knight Hullum and Sentinel Sarah Lyons.' He explained, answering McNeal's look. 'They're high ranking figures within the Brotherhood.'

'Ah.' McNeal stared at them for a second longer. 'What have you told them?'

'The truth as best I could, sir.' Scott said. 'They know of the frigate and our predicament, but are just as sceptical about it all as we are. The Brotherhood, and Hullum in particular, maintain that the United Nations was disbanded in 2052 and humankind never managed to explore space barring the Moon. Hullum was very specific about that last part.'

'Do you think he knew about the UFO?'

'Entirely possible, Captain.' Tara said, adding her voice to the Spartan's. It was odd for McNeal to hear two different voices coming from one person. 'Analysis of his Pip-Boy has revealed several audio files labelled 'Alien captive recordings', over twenty-five in total, and hints that at some point he may have been abducted by the craft.' The two men cast another glance at Hullum.

'If he was, how did he escape?' McNeal asked in a low tone of voice.

'Unknown.' Tara answered after three full seconds.

'We'll make it a point to speak with him more fully in time.' McNeal said, more to himself than to Scott and Tara. As they continued to stand there Charlie 21 flew off, having unloaded all of its cargo, only to be replaced by Charlie 22. More doctors poured out and began removing their equipment.

'Let's lend a hand.' McNeal nodded at the boxes.

'Yes, sir.' Scott followed the officer, switching his radio on and broadcast an order to the ODSTs to help move the equipment below. Hullum and Sarah followed, wary looks on their faces as they approached the Pelican.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Nine

**Captain McNeal, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 1741 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'You guys are serious, aren't you?' Hullum stated, arms folded across his chest. McNeal nodded.

'We are.' He said, face grim. They were stood to one side, Sarah, Hullum and Rothchild facing McNeal, Scott and two of the ODSTs. Around them, the UNSC doctors were quickly setting up their medical equipment and beginning the process of evaluating the injured for treatment. 'Which is why we need access to your historical databases.'

'Provided, of course, that they survived the attack.' Rothchild mused darkly. 'Most of our archives are stored near the Great Hall, and the blast which took it out could have damaged the mainframes as well.'

'They survived being nuked.' Hullum said. 'I'm sure a few pounds of C4 wouldn't do much damage.'

'James would have said much the same thing.' The Scribe said. 'But checking them for damage will have to wait until after we've repaired the Citadel.'

'And if they're too broken to get anything off?' McNeal asked. 'We need those files.'

'Then you'll have to find somewhere else to get them.' Sarah told him rather abruptly. 'Right now, we have more important issues to deal with than that. The Brotherhood has been attacked and we need to seek out the ones responsible for it.' She pointed at the wounded and dead. 'Talon Company killed a lot of good men and women today and badly wounded my father.' Her eyes flickered to the makeshift triage being set up and McNeal guessed she was looking for him. 'They need to answer for it.'

'And they will, Sarah.' Hullum said gently, unfolding his arms to place a reassuring hand on the woman's shoulder. 'But it'll take time to get back on our feet. We've only got fifteen soldiers who can go out and fight, the Citadel needs rebuilding and we have no idea where Talon Company is. Going out in this state will only weaken us more.' He kept his hand in place as Sarah began to relax slightly. 'Until then, it couldn't hurt to cooperate with the UNSC. Okay?'

'Okay, Liam.' Sarah whispered, gaze still lingering on the medical officers as they went from patient to patient and placed a different coloured peg on their clothes. Most of the injured received either a green or orange one, whilst a small number were given red or black ones.

'What do the pegs mean?' Rothchild wondered aloud, following Sarah's stare.

'They help designate which patient needs the most which care.' Scott said. 'Green means minor wounds that require only basic treatment, such as gashes or fractures, whilst orange denotes more serious injuries, such as non-lethal bullet wounds, plasma burns or fractures where the bone has broken through the skin.'

'And the red and black ones?' Hullum asked.

'The red pegs are for injuries that need immediate attention and black means the patient won't survive surgery, either due to the extent of the wound or because the shock would kill them.' The Spartan finished, standing at ease behind McNeal and the Helljumpers. The senior naval officer momentarily glanced at the armoured giant, feeling intimidated by the sheer size of Scott and the blackened visor he wore. McNeal turned back when he heard Sarah take an involuntary breath.

'No.' She whispered, moving towards the doctors with Hullum and Rothchild close behind. 'No!'

'What's happening?' McNeal asked the two ODSTs who just shrugged. 'Commander?'

'Elder Lyons was given a black peg.' Scott stated, heading after the three Brotherhood soldiers. Sarah had grabbed hold of the doctor who had given Owyn the black peg and was gripping their arm tightly. Hullum and Rothchild were trying to make her release the medical officer.

'Why did you give him a black one?' Sarah demanded, tears in her eyes as she ignored the efforts of the Scribe and the Knight. 'Why?'

'He-He wouldn't make it through the operations.' The doctor kept repeating and McNeal recognised her as Anna Farnsworth. 'His body won't be able to handle the strain.' She winced slightly as Sarah increased the pressure on her arm.

'You give him a red peg. Now.' The Brotherhood commander ordered. Hullum tried to uncurl Sarah's fingers from the Lieutenant's arm but her grip was too powerful.

'He'd die!' Anna yelled, more from pain than wanting to get her point across.

'Sarah, let her go.' Hullum said firmly, adjusting his grip to get it below her fingers. A crowd began to gather, the ODSTs going for their weapons.

'Stand down, Alpha Squad.' Scott barked over SQUADCOM, positioning himself behind Sarah before slipping an arm over her neck and grabbed her in a headlock. On reflex, she released Anna and delivered a powerful elbow to the Spartan's stomach. It slid off his shields, doing nothing more than make them flare and Scott grunt. He continued to hold Sarah in a headlock, dragging her away from the wounded and the doctors.

'Get a sedative ready.' Scott ordered, straining a little as Sarah redoubled her efforts to break free. 'I'll restrain her.' She delivered another elbow but it produced the same results. Hullum went to help but Mitchell stopped him, shaking his head.

'Spartans are pretty badass when it comes to fighting.' The Gunnery Sergeant said. 'He can take her.' McNeal joined the pair, watching as Sarah dropped to her knees and tried to flip Scott. She managed to throw him off but the Spartan quickly grabbed hold of a small handle on her armour's chest plate with his right hand and used it to drag her down, delivering a short jab to Sarah's nose with his left that whipped her head backwards, accompanied by a bit of blood.

'See what I mean?' Mitchell grunted, though his voice held a small amount of admiration as the supersoldier soon had Sarah in another headlock, moving so fast he was almost a blur. Blood was trailing from both of Sarah's nostrils as she tried to flip Scott again but he was prepared, utilising his strength and height to lift her off the floor and prevent the move. A doctor handed a syringe filled with a clear liquid to Leo, the Helljumper medic, as Sarah began kicking.

'Sedate her, Trooper.' McNeal ordered. Leo nodded and was by Scott's side, injecting the solution into Sarah's neck. She continued to kick but her movements rapidly became sluggish as the sedative took hold then finally fell limp, still held aloft by Scott. He kept her like that for a few more seconds then eased her down onto the floor. 'How long before she wakes up?'

'About four or five hours, maybe more.' The doctor who had readied the sedative said, checking Anna's arm for damage. 'Depends on her metabolic rate.' He rolled the Lieutenant's sleeve up and exposed a nasty bruise, eliciting a whimper of pain when he touched it. 'Doesn't look like it's broken.'

'Good to know.' Anna said, wincing as she applied an ice pack. 'Hurts like hell, though.' Her colleague just nodded.

'Why did you give Elder Lyons a black peg?' Hullum asked quietly, crouching next to the unconscious form of Sarah. Scott was standing a few feet away, watching him.

'The man she was asking about?' Anna said, using a bandage to hold the pack in place.

'Yes.'

'He wouldn't have survived surgery.' She told the Knight. 'His body is too weak to cope with it. And even if he did, the man wouldn't have long to live anyway.'

'What makes you say that?' Rothchild inquired, frowning as Hullum and Gallows picked Sarah up and placed her onto a nearby table. Behind Anna, the other doctors had started treating those with red pegs whilst Leo and a few of the more junior members were dealing with the green and orange ones.

'Well, his physical health for starters.' Anna said, pulling a medical scanner out of her coat pocket. She activated the device. 'Scans of his body showed it had been weakened by a combination of old age, a poor diet and poor hygiene, further exacerbated by stress and exhaustion. The fact that he's still alive by this stage is nothing short of a miracle.'

'What kind of wounds does he have?' McNeal questioned, shifting his gaze to Owyn. He had been placed with the others deemed unable to survive an operation, a single Scribe whose stomach had been torn open by an explosion and two Paladins bleeding from dozens of bullet wounds clustered around their chests. In comparison, the Elder seemed unhurt with only a bandage wrapped around his head.

'Head trauma, mostly, and its sent him into a coma.' She said, pulling out a medical scanner to list the injuries. 'There's swelling on the left side of the brain, bleeding on the right. His skull was cracked in three separate places and bits of bone have become lodged in the outer tissue alongside what I can only assume is shrapnel and rubble. Then we move onto his chest and abdomen.' Anna hesitated for a moment then held the scanner out to Hullum and Rothchild, the former of the two taking it from her. 'Initially, the scanner only saw a few broken bones and some mild internal bleeding but it quickly picked up on some more unhealthy irregularities.' Hullum stared at the screen, a look of confusion on his face.

'I don't understand this.' He passed the device to Rothchild who, for a brief moment, seemed fascinated with the device itself but it was quickly gone and he took on a look similar to the Knight. 'What kind of irregularities?'

'Cancerous tissue in his lungs.' Tara said before Anna could speak, broadcasting on Scott's external speakers. 'It's just entering the final stages and has spread to his lymph nodes. Various other organs are beginning to show signs of cancer as well, prominently his stomach, liver and pancreas. Given this and his old age, Elder Lyons would have at most six months to live provided he survived the surgery.'

'Cancer?' Hullum whispered, yanking the medical scanner from Rothchild, scrutinising the display. 'Can't you treat it?'

'Unfortunately, no.' Anna said gently, holding her hand out for the scanner. Hullum eventually gave it back then shifted his gaze to Owyn. 'The cancer is too far along for chemotherapy to be of any use, and there's too much of it to remove surgically. The stress of it all would kill him. I'm sorry.'

'Can't you do anything for him at all? Rothchild asked.

'We can try to make him as comfortable as possible, pain relief and the like, but that's about it.' The junior officer adjusted her ice pack slightly, tightening the bandage a little as the room fell silent.

'Could you, you know, ease suffering entirely?' Hullum asked tentatively, expecting a backlash from the doctor and the rest of the Brotherhood. It never came.

'I... could.' Anna said, looking to McNeal. He gave a discreet nod. 'But only if he or a family member allows it. That woman, the one who grabbed my arm, she's his daughter. Right?' Hullum and Rothchild nodded. 'Then she's the only one who can give the consent given his condition.'

'Which won't be for quite a while.' The doctor who had provided the sedative said. 'Four hours at least.'

'So we wait.' Hullum said as he walked over to Sarah and sat on the edge of the table she was lying on. He took her hand in his and stroked the back of it. 'We wait for her to wake up, then we wait for her to make a decision.' The Knight shook his head sadly. 'Then we wait for her to say goodbye.'

'We'll all say goodbye.' Rothchild added, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. 'Together.' Hullum just nodded vaguely. McNeal watched the two for a moment then waved Scott over to one side, once again feeling intimidated next to the Spartan.

'Keep a close eye on her when she wakes up, Commander.' He advised. 'I get the feeling that when she wakes up, Sarah will try anything to keep her father alive, even to try and force Lieutenant Farnsworth to perform the operations regardless of his physical health.'

'I will, sir.' Scott said.

'Good.' McNeal nodded then looked down at his stomach when it let out a loud growl. The Spartan stared at it as well, making the senior officer feel a little uncomfortable but he pushed it aside. 'Guess I could do with a meal. How about you, Commander?'

'I wouldn't mind, sir.' He replied, leading McNeal to a corner of the room where the ODSTs had set up a small area for themselves. A few of them were slumped against the wall, sleeping, but the vast majority were standing or sitting, eating MREs and chatting to each other. Mitchell spotted the two and handed each a tin full of lukewarm food without being asked.

**Captain McNeal, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 2201 Hours, September 06, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

McNeal stared at the screen on his data pad, not really paying it any attention, as the small device displayed a slideshow of everything that Scott and Tara had seen since arriving on Earth. Most of the content was just ruined buildings and darkened tunnels, interspersed with images of the mutated creatures the Spartan had fought. McNeal took more of an interest when one came up but they were far and few between. He eventually shut the device down and stowed it in his coat pocket. Next to him, Scott was silently watching as Hullum continued to keep a vigil next to Sarah, the Knight occasionally glancing at his Pip-Boy. The UNSC doctors had finished treating the wounded and with the help of the ODSTs had packed their equipment back up and stored it in an empty room.

'How long do you think before she wakes up?' McNeal asked quietly.

'Not long, Captain.' Scott said. 'The doctor did say that it would be about fours before the sedative wore off, less if Sarah has a high metabolic rate.'

'Are you ready to grab her in case she goes for Anna?'

'Yes, sir.' Scott shifted his posture a little, tensing his legs and letting both arms fall to his sides. McNeal looked back at Hullum and Sarah, the latter no longer in her armour. Hullum and the soldier called Gallows had taken it off a while ago, giving it to one of the Scribes to repair.

'Got any ideas on what happened to the Earth, Commander?' McNeal wondered.

'A nuclear attack, sir.' Scott answered. 'Sasha ran the simulations and having seen it up close, I find myself concurring with her assessment.'

'That's not what I meant, Spartan.' McNeal ran a hand though his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh. 'I mean, how did it get this way? There's no sign of the UNSC, the technology is all wrong and what's more, all of these people say that they've been here for years. But they can't have been. _I _was here mere months ago and everything was fine.'

'I don't know, sir.' The Spartan said. 'Tara and I had a similar discussion but we couldn't reach an agreeable conclusion. Maybe someone on the ship would have better luck figuring it out.'

'Maybe.' McNeal mused, crossing both arms across his chest. He sat like that for a minute then pulled out his data pad, activating it. McNeal typed in a few commands, read something off the screen then tucked the device away again. 'Though whether we'll figure that out is anyone's guess.' Scott hummed in agreement, still intently watching Hullum and Sarah. She was starting to mumble and her limbs began twitching, the sedative wearing off.

'Sarah? Can you hear me?' Hullum whispered gently, shaking her shoulder. 'Say something, Sarah.' Scott stood, as did McNeal and a few ODSTs spread throughout the room.

'L-Liam?' she murmured groggily, sluggishly trying to sit up. 'What happened?' Sarah gave up on moving and lay back down again.

'You were drugged by the UNSC people.' Hullum told her. Leo came over and ran a medical scanner across Sarah's body, nodding to himself when it lit up green.

'She's fine.' He said. 'Still some of the sedative in her system but it'll be gone soon.'

'I was?' Sarah tried to sit up once again, more successfully this time with the help of Hullum. 'Why?'

'Because you attacked one of their doctors when they gave your father a black peg.' He tensed, as did Scott and the Helljumpers, in case Sarah made for Anna a second time. But given her current state it seemed unlikely.

'Black peg?' she repeated slowly, brow scrunching up in concentration as Sarah tried to think through the haze of drugs. It remained like that for a few seconds then her expression shifted to one of alarm and worry. 'No.' She made a move to stand up but Hullum caught her arm and held the woman in place, Scott doing the same on Sarah's other arm within seconds.

'Sarah, they can't do anything to help him.' Hullum said, straining a little. 'His body wouldn't be able to handle the stress of surgery.'

'No, he can.' She said back, looking into the Knight's eyes. 'My father can pull though.'

'He wouldn't.' Hullum whispered. 'Your father has lung cancer.' He glanced at Anna then back to Sarah. 'They showed me how bad it was, how much it had developed. All they can do is to try and make him as comfortable as possible until the end.' He trailed off, staring down at the ground before looking back up. 'That, and the doctors told me they can help Owyn slip away peacefully.' Hullum let go of Sarah's arm, swapping it for her hand and squeezed it gently. 'But they'd need your permission to do it.' He made a subtle motion at Scott, indicating he should let go. The Spartan complied but remained close by.

'There has to be something else that they can do.' Sarah said, some small glimmer of hope in her eyes.

'Sarah, they can't do anything for him.' Hullum told her softly, his expression changing to one of sympathy. 'They've thought of every possible way to save him but it can't be done. Your father wouldn't survive the stress of treating his wounds or the cancer. I'm sorry, but there's no other option.' He looked down again, unhappiness creeping over his features. 'I know it won't be an easy decision to make, but it would spare Owyn from a lot of suffering and discomfort.'

'I-I know.' Sarah whispered. She squeezed Hullum's hand back then shakily stood up, wavering for a moment before making her way to Anna. 'You're the one who's the head doctor, right?'

'Yes.' The lieutenant said, backing away fractionally.

'And you're the one who'll give my father the injection?'

Anna nodded. 'Only with the permission of a family member though, which is you.'

'There really is nothing you can do for my father? Nothing at all?' Sarah asked.

'No, I'm sorry.' Anna said. 'His condition is too unstable for us to treat it, we can only alleviate the symptoms.' Scott and Hullum took up positions behind Sarah, one on each side in case she went for the doctor but Sarah never did. Her shoulders just slumped as she silently made her way to her father, lying on a portable stretcher and covered with a thick blanket.

'Give him the injection.' Sarah said quietly, not bothering to look around. 'Get it over with.' Anna nodded and quickly retrieved a syringe filled with a clear liquid then stood beside Sarah, uncovering Owyn's arm. Hullum, Rothchild, and the Brotherhood soldiers inside the room joined her with Hullum interlacing his fingers with Sarah's. McNeal and the UNSC personnel stepped away to give them their space.

'You made the right choice, Sarah.' Hullum whispered as Anna rolled Owyn's sleeve back and pushed the tip of the needle into a vein.

'Doesn't feel like it.' She replied, watching as the doctor injected the syringe's contents into her father. The man's breathing became laboured for a brief moment then stopped entirely. 'Goodbye, father.' A silence fell over the room as Anna took the needle out placed it in her coat pocket.

'Starting tomorrow, we're launching a full campaign to track down and eliminate Talon Company from the Capital Wasteland once and for all.' Sarah announced, eyes fixed on her father's body. 'They killed too many of our Brothers today, and it's time we answered in kind.' She brought her head up and stared at each person in the crowd. 'Track them, find them, kill them. Is that understood?'

'Yes, ma'am.' They all answered loudly. McNeal looked to Scott and the Helljumpers, nodding at them. They nodded back, drawing their weapons and checking them over.

'Any room for a bunch of ODSTs on this little shindig?' Mitchell asked Sarah, pulling the charging handle on his assault rifle.

'Of course.'

'Good.' Mitchell said. 'Alpha Squad, we're in business.'


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Ten

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 0906 Hours, September 08, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'_Boys and girls of the Capital Wasteland, this is Three Dog with a special report on what's been happening down in DC hellhole. You know Talon Company, right? Big bad mercenaries who take what they want, when they want, and don't really give a shit about who gets in their way? Well Three Dog has learned that they were the ones behind the attack on the Citadel, and have since started taking on other Brotherhood outposts in the wastes. Already I'm getting reports that the Arlington Library has been overrun and Talon Company mercs are showing up near Project Purity._

'_Now, I know what you're thinking, children. But Three Dog, doesn't this mean that the Brotherhood of Steel is no more? Guess again, kiddies. Our pals in power armour are down but not out, and that they're working on some kind of counter-attack with the help of the one, the only, the Lone Wanderer! The kid from the Vault was seen fending off Talon Company alongside Sentinel Sarah Lyons and her squad of troops, with assistance from an unknown person wearing some kind of advanced armour. Does he, or even she, have something to do with those streaks of fire that landed inside the Citadel? And what about the planes that flew over the city? Who knows, children. All I can tell you is to keep your eyes open and your weapon loaded for crazy._

'_This is Three Dog, oww!, and you're listening to Galaxy News Radio. We're Radio Free Wasteland, and we're here... for you. Now, some music.' _The DJ faded away and was replaced by an upbeat song about someone called Butcher Pete. Scott muted the music.

'He sounds energetic.' Tara said after a few moments. 'And unusually well informed for a person who rarely ventures out of a building.'

'Maybe he has series of informants.' Scott countered. He was stood to one side of the Pentagon's inner courtyard with the ODSTs of Alpha Squad, watching as the remaining members of the Brotherhood performed a memorial service for those who had fallen during Talon Company's attack. Sarah was leading the service, reading a list of the dead from a clipboard. Hullum was stood next to her, Rothchild as well. McNeal and the medical personnel had returned to the _Heavy Hitter, _leaving Scott the highest ranking UNSC member on the planet.

'Most likely.' The AI agreed. She fell silent as Sarah finished reading her list and came to the Brotherhood's approximation of attention. To the Spartan it looked sloppy, and he noted that the rest of the crowd were the same as they followed their leader's example.

'Today, we say goodbye to our fallen Brothers, killed defending the freedom of the people of the wastes, and upholding the ideals of justice and fairness.' Sarah started to say once everyone was quiet. 'Their names will be forever remembered and recorded in the Codex, so that their sacrifices can act as a guide for us and all future generations of the Brotherhood of Steel. They ennobled all of us, and they shall not be forgotten.' She nodded at seven of her troops, all carrying a mixture of sniper and bolt-action rifles, prompting them to shoulder their weapons and fire three shots each, a three-volley salute in honour of their lost comrades.

'Talon Company has dealt us a serious blow, taking from us many of our Brothers and our Elder, and is trying to erode our influence over the Capital Wasteland.' Sarah continued once silence resumed, her face set in a resolute mask. 'Their men have taken Arlington Library, attacked the Washington Monument and are moving to seize Project Purity. They have started a war against us, with the goal of removing the Brotherhood of Steel as a power in DC completely. Yes, they may have more men. And yes, they are far more organised than ever before. But they have made a mistake they will come to regret.'

'Fighting over this shithole?' an ODST muttered over SQUADCOM.

'Zip it, Chang.' Mitchell growled in response.

'They have made the mistake of attacking not a small town, or a caravan out in the wastes.' The Brotherhood commander said, unaware of the Helljumper's comment. 'But trained soldiers, fighting for a cause they believe in. We will not go quietly. We will make them pay for every outpost overrun, for every Brother killed, and for every day they keep this war going. Talon Company may have dealt us a serious blow, but we will deal them a crippling one. For Elder Lyons, and the Brotherhood of Steel!'

'For the Brotherhood!' her troops chanted back. 'For Elder Lyons!' They all saluted as one, Sarah saluting back, then dispersed into small groups. Sarah went to all of them, speaking with the leader of each unit and giving them their orders. Scott and the Helljumpers watched as all but one of the groups left the Pentagon and went out into the city.

'So, what do we do now?' Mitchell wondered aloud.

'We wait for orders.' Scott said. As part of the UNSC's deal with the Brotherhood, Scott and the ODSTs of Alpha Squad had been placed under Sarah's command and would remain under it until the conflict with Talon Company was resolved.

'So long as it isn't guarding this place.' The Marine groused. 'Helljumpers aren't trained to babysit places. We blow them up instead.'

'Ain't that the truth?' Joey agreed. 'A month in cryo, then stuck on the ship waiting for a reason to drop in. How do swabbies deal with being on them all the time?'

'They don't have the guts to fight mano-a-mano like us real men.' Franks put in. 'So they stay in their ships all the time-'

'And get drunk on white wine while eating crackers.' Mitchell cut in. 'Yeah, we know. Heard you say it before, Franks. Numerous times.'

'And it's never been funny.' Chang added bluntly. At this, the other ODSTs shared a laugh. Scott glanced at them out of the corner of his eye, seeing several of the Troopers slap Franks on the head and back.

'They seem close-knit.' Tara observed.

'You tend to get like that with people you fight alongside, day in and day out.' The Spartan responded. 'Effective squads are more family than fireteam. They know each other to the point of predicting what they'll do in combat, where they'll be and who is best at doing what without thinking.'

'Speaking from experience, Commander?' the AI mused.

'Yes.' Scott said. 'Lieutenant Ambrose made a point of drilling it into us during training, saying our fireteams are our families. We work as one, fight as one, win as one. It was the basis of our training.' He looked at the ODSTs again. They had finished mocking Franks and were milling about, waiting for their orders. For a brief moment, Scott imagined that they were his original squadmates on Onyx, Team Kilo, and not Marines. He shook the image away as Sarah and Hullum walked over.

'Commander, are you and your men ready to go to work?' she asked.

'Yes, ma'am.' Scott replied as Mitchell barked at the sitting ODSTs to get to their feet. 'What do you need us to do?'

'You're going with Hullum to Underworld, where he's getting some reinforcements, and then you'll be heading to the Washington Monument to fend off Talon Company until fresh Brotherhood troops can arrive.' Sarah said. 'After that, Hullum is taking you to either Canterbury Commons or Rivet City. We need to find out where Talon Company is getting supplied from, and those two places are the biggest merchant bases in the Capital Wasteland.'

'Once we've found that out, we'll come back to the Citadel and plan our attack.' Hullum finished, drawing the skeletal rifle Scott had seen him use during Talon Company's attack on the Pentagon. Its surface was pitted with scratches, dents and rust.

'Then let's not waste time.' The Spartan said, drawing his own weapon. Compared to Hullum's, it was in pristine condition. 'Helljumpers, we're moving out.'

'Yes, sir.' Mitchell responded over SQUADCOM. 'Alpha Squad, let's show these guys how real soldiers operate. I want a staggered tactical column with at least two people watching our backs. Anything unfriendly comes up at you, shoot to kill.'

'But make sure it _is _a hostile.' Tara warned as they set off. 'A number of civilians live in the ruins and they may mistake us for Talon Company.'

'So how do we tell if they're civvies or not?' Mitchell demanded.

'By their clothes and accuracy with weapons.' The AI listed. 'If the attacking force is wearing rags and their shots go nowhere near us, they're likely to be civilians. If they are wearing black armour with a white logo on the left chest, and have a reasonable degree of accuracy, they'll be Talon Company.'

'Got it.' the NCO said. 'Alpha Squad, make sure the enemy is wearing armour and can shoot before opening fire. Possibility of civilians on this mission.' They gave varying acknowledgements as the group left the confines of the Pentagon and entered the outside ruins.

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 1036 Hours, September 08, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'Okay, we're just about there.' Hullum was looking at the screen of his Pip-Boy, leading Scott and the ODSTs to a place called Underworld. Tara was keeping track of their progress, comparing the route to the maps in her database. According to them, they were close to the National Museum of Natural History though on the files contained in Hullum's Pip-Boy, it was listed as the Museum of History.

'It's just up these steps.' He dropped the device and drew his rifle as they approached a chain link fence. 'When we reach the top, I want you to head for the Monument and help hold the position until I can get there.'

'Why? Aren't you coming with us?' Scott asked as they pushed past the flimsy gates and found themselves at the bottom of a bank of escalators. The sound of gunfire could be heard, evidence that Talon Company was nearby and a battle was being fought.

'I am.' Hullum assured him. 'But first, I need to visit an old friend.' He nodded his head in the direction of the museum above them. 'Trust me, it won't take long.'

'Very well.' Scott said before the Knight sprinted up the stairs. 'Alpha Squad, get ready for combat. Our objective is to repel an attack on the Washington Monument until reinforcements arrive. Enemy composition and strength is unknown at this time, but expect heavy weapons and overwhelming numbers.'

'You say that like it's a bad thing.' Mitchell replied as they moved up the steps, weapons drawn. Scott was leading, with the NCO close behind. The rest of Alpha was spread across the four lanes in staggered lines. Leo, the medic, was at the back and flanked by one of the marksmen, a man named Cooper according to his IFF tag.

'Weapons free, Helljumpers.' Scott said as they drew level with the ground. It was barren, with the ruins of various buildings that had all been fortified to some degree dotting the area, and trenches cut through it if the Spartan remembered the overhead maps correctly. 'Move to the objective.'

As one, the thirteen UNSC soldiers broke into a fast jog towards the massive obelisk, dodging piles of rubble and stepping through pools of blood along the way. Some had dried, but others were still fresh and made splashes whenever an armoured boot came down on one.

'Tara, can you give me an estimate on enemy strength?' Scott asked as the sounds of battle grew louder and intensified.

'Scanning.' the AI responded. 'Detecting over four dozen bio-signs approaching the Monument and five robots similar to the one we encountered at the Pentagon.'

'Can you spoof the FOF tags?' The Spartan signalled for the ODSTs to halt, taking cover behind a low mound of debris.

'I can do one better than that, Commander.' Tara said. 'Reprogramming the robots targeting parameters to disregard us and the Brotherhood and focus on Talon Company instead.'

'Good.' Scott ordered the ODSTs forward again as the mercenaries began fighting their own machines. Swears and curses cut through the reports of automatic gunfire.

'What the fuck has gotten into them?' one panicked member shouted.

'Who cares? Just shoot them!' another yelled back. 'Take out their guns!'

'Hostiles detected. Commencing neutralisation.' Scott assumed this was from one of the three legged robots as it engaged Talon Company. 'Adding targets to threat matrix!'

The Helljumpers broke from cover and flat out sprinted for the Brotherhood lines, joining three battered Knights behind hastily constructed barricades and began firing into the oncoming force. Two of the robots had been destroyed, smoke belching from gaping holes in their armour, and slowly the remaining three soon suffered similar fates.

'All robots destroyed, Commander.' Tara announced coolly. Scott grunted in response as a round collided with his shields, making them flare and drop their charge by a tenth.

'Sniper.' He warned over SQUADCOM. 'Cooper, see if you can find it and shut him up.'

'Yes, sir.' The Helljumper replied in a heavy Australian accent. 'Oh, I see him. Crafty bastard was hiding behind some smoke.'

'Can you get a clear shot?' Scott asked as he fired a short, controlled burst at one mercenary who had gotten too close.

'Do squids have four jaws?' Cooper asked back, unleashing a single triple tap from his battle rifle.

'Target down.' Tara declared. 'Detecting four other combatants with similar weapons and concealment. Tagging their locations now.' Four waypoints flashed into existence on the Spartan's HUD, spread across the back of the battlefield.

'Cooper, you and Edwin start teaching them how to shoot.' Mitchell ordered. 'Everyone else, keep firing.' The two marksmen went to work, one by one eliminating their hostile counterparts.

'Okay, I've got the one positioned behind the carcass of a bot.' Edwin said over the radio. 'And the guy at three o'clock on the rubble.'

'Got it.' Cooper replied. 'Which leaves me with the merc using a corpse as a firing platform and the brainiac using barrels for protection. Engaging targets.' The two men fired a string of bursts at their opponents, putting them down and removing the snipers from play.

'Nice shooting, boys.' Mitchell said once they were done. 'Though next time, try not to use so much ammo up.'

'Yes, Gunny.' Cooper and Edwin chorused together, picking off new targets within the oncoming crowd.

'Close-knit, indeed.' Tara whispered.

'Like I said before, effective squads are families.' Scott replied. He reloaded a nearly empty magazine and tossed a frag grenade. It landed amid one small group of mercenaries then detonated, turning the five or so men stood there into tenderised meat.

'Nice arm, Commander.' Franks commented. 'I'd say that's a three pointer.'

'Franks, stop trying to kiss the Spartan's ass and do your job!' Mitchell groaned. 'There'll be plenty of time for brown nosing later.'

'Just because you want him to kiss yours, sir.' Chang said, throwing a grenade of his own. The Helljumper's luck wasn't quite as good as Scott's, only killing two men rather than five.

'Damn straight.' The Gunnery Sergeant said. 'I'm your superior officer, Franks. Any and all affection goes to me, and me alone. Understand?'

'Yes, daddy.' Franks answered in a sing-song voice.

'Maybe a little _too _close-knit.' The AI corrected. Scott said nothing, preferring to kill the mercenaries Chang had failed to.

'Alert! Detecting a new contact approaching the battlefield!' Tara suddenly announced, a note of urgency in her voice. 'Bio-sign indicates it's a super mutant.'

'Where?' Scott demanded.

'Twelve o'clock, range two hundred metres and closing.' The AI said, activating a waypoint in the general direction of the newcomer.

'Alpha Squad, possible new hostile incoming from the East. Target will be easy to identify.' By now Talon Company had been reduced to about half their original number, the blood of their fallen covering every inch of ground and trickled into any crevice and crater it found. A steady stream poured into one of the trenches located in the area.

'Easy to identify?' Mitchell repeated. 'What is it, a Brute?'

'Something similar.' Scott corrected. 'But not quite. Think less hair, and a yellow-green skin tone.'

'And with possibly less intelligence as well.' Tara added. 'Either way, you'll know it when you see it.'

'So long as it can die.' The Marine replied.

'They do, Gunny.' Scott assured him, thinking back to the ones he had faced before.

'Contact one hundred metres, closing fast.' Tara announced. 'It should- wait, detecting a second bio-sign.'

'Another mutant?' the Spartan wondered, bracing as a salvo of shots struck his shields.

'No. It's a human.' She paused for three seconds, analysing the additional unknown. 'Detecting a Pip-Boy signal. It's Hullum.'

'About time he showed up.' Mitchell growled. 'Asks for help then leaves us to do all the hard work. Yeah, this is a real fair deal we're in.' The ODST fired an extended burst at a cluster of Talon Company mercenaries, downing two and scattering the rest.

'Wait. If he's with the Brute-thing, does that mean it's on our side?' Cooper questioned.

'Possibly.' Scott answered. 'Alpha Squad, don't fire on the mutant unless it fires on you first.' Twelve green acknowledgment lights flashed on Scott's HUD.

'Hullum and unknown now fifty metres, Commander.' Tara updated the waypoint. 'And should be emerging from behind that pile of rubble at your eleven o'clock.'

'Noted.' Scott threw another grenade. 'Troopers, keep the pressure up! We're nearly through this.'

'Like there was any possibility we wouldn't.' Chang commented. 'These guys are a joke.'

'Watch it, Chang.' Mitchell warned. 'These guys could still surprise us.'

'Just saying, Gunny.' The Helljumper replied. 'They had us outmanned by at least four to one and we ain't suffered a single casualty.' He glanced at the three Brotherhood Knights. One was bleeding from a leg wound whilst another had their arm in a sling. The third was lying down with Leo applying a bandage to her head. 'Well, make that since we got here.'

'So long as it stays that way.' The NCO muttered.

'Hullum and mutant entering the battlefield.' Tara declared. Scott and the ODSTs looked up to see the two arrive. Hullum had in his hands the skeletal rifle and immediately began downing the mercenaries with triple-taps to the head. His companion, on the other hand, was quite so refined in their fighting style. Scott squinted and saw they were wearing a backpack of some kind that resembled an antique battery. What drew his attention was what it was connected to. A thick cable ran from the backpack and led into a large, two-handed metal gun.

'Time to die!' the mutant wielding it yelled, unleashing a barrage of red lasers that cut into the remaining mercenaries. They all turned to face the new threat.

'Shit, it's the Wanderer!' one called out.

'Then shoot him!' his friend shouted back. 'Shoot the fucker!' Every member of Talon Company not already shooting at Hullum broke off from the UNSC troops and focused on the late arrivals. Over nearly eighteen people trained their guns on them, ranging from assault rifles to miniguns, and unleashed a near solid wall of bullets at Hullum. He made no attempt to dodge the incoming fire, not even when more than a few rounds struck his arms and legs.

'Alpha Squad, suppressive fire!' Scott ordered. 'Drive them off before they kill Hullum.' The ODSTs did as asked, emptying their magazines into the mercenaries. They dropped in ones and twos, but not quickly enough for Scott.

'Grenades!' he yelled as Mitchell did the same. Thirteen fragmentation devices sailed through the air and landed amidst the still standing men then detonated, reducing them to bloodied ribbons.

As the last echo of their explosion faded away, Scott cautiously checked the surroundings for any more threats then lowered his weapon.

'That's the last of them.' Tara said. 'Area secured.'

'Stand down, Alpha.' The Spartan radioed, coming out of cover. 'We did it.'

'And not a moment too soon.' Cooper said. 'I was starting to get bored.' He looked up when footsteps approached them, backing away slightly when he saw the source.

'You guys alright?' Hullum asked as he stood next to the mutant. It was still carrying the oversized gun in its hands, and wore a sneer on its face.

'Yeah, we're green.' Scott replied, staring pointedly at the humanoid. 'Is that thing friendly?'

'Who, Fawkes?' the Brotherhood Knight said. Scott nodded. 'Yep. Fawkes is one of two friendly super mutants in the Capital Wasteland that I know of. He's my reinforcements from Underworld.'

'Ah.' The Spartan and a few Helljumpers drew closer. 'Thanks for the support, Fawkes.'

'Think nothing of it.' the super mutant said in a surprising educated voice. Though judging from the limited interactions Scott had had with them, Fawkes was probably the Doctor Halsey of his kind. Even so, it was guttural and slow. 'A friend of Liam is a friend of mine.'

'Nice toy you got there.' Mitchell murmured, nodding at the laser weapon.

'Yes, such amazing technology.' Fawkes lifted the device up, examining it. 'I use it to rid the wasteland of evil.'

'Huh. Cool sound byte.' The Marine NCO quipped. He made to reach for the gun but stopped when Tara lit up a waypoint on the HUDs of everyone.

'Alert, additional contact detected and moving to this location.' She announced as they all span to face the possible threat.

'I thought you said the area was clear?' Scott said to her.

'I did.' Tara replied defensively. 'But I'm designed for electronic infiltration, not performing detailed sweeps of an area. Plus, I'm working with just the sensors built into your armour. They have a limited effective range.' The waypoint drew closer, the range on it dropping below thirty metres.

'Can you at least tell me what kind of contact it is?' the Spartan wondered as he and everyone else readied their weapons.

'Human.' Tara finally said. 'Bio-signs indicate it's a human.' A few seconds later, she was proved right as one last Talon Company mercenary came into view and ran straight for them. Scott activated the magnification of his faceplate and looked over the man. He had the same armour on as the rest but was wielding a very different weapon. It was a shoulder mounted device with a U-shaped barrel that was loaded with a-

'Tara, scan his weapon and pay particular attention to the projectile.' Scott barked as he snapped his gun up.

'Scanning, Commander.' The AI said. A schematic of the weapon appeared on Scott's HUD, lines flowing over it as Tara compared it to every weapon in her database. 'Alert! Match found on the projectile. It appears to be a scaled down version of the atomic bomb dropped on Nagasaki, codename-'

'Fat Man!' Hullum yelled before Tara could finish. 'Take him down. Quick!' He dove to one side, firing his rifle at the last mercenary.

'Open fire!' Mitchell ordered, doing the same as the Knight. Fourteen guns and one rapid-fire laser weapon spoke at once, tearing into the Talon Company member. Despite this, he still managed to aim and fire his weapon, sending the projectile in an arcing trajectory. Thankfully, it landed nowhere near the UNSC or Brotherhood troops though when the warhead finally touched the ground, it exploded with the force of a small nuclear bomb that buffeted Scott and sent Mitchell and a few ODSTs to the ground.

'What the fuck?' the Marine NCO grunted as Scott helped him up. 'Was that a nuke?'

'Yes, Gunnery Sergeant.' Tara responded. 'I estimate the blast yield to be the equivalent of three hundred pounds of TNT, maybe more.'

'Why would anyone design a handheld weapon that fires a nuke?' Chang wondered, dusting himself down. 'You're more likely to blow yourself up than the other guy.'

'It's a pre-War weapon.' Hullum said. 'They didn't care about the operator's safety when designing it.'

'Wonder what it would do to a split-lip.' Franks mused aloud. He wandered over to the now dead mercenary, killed by the sheer volume of bullets and lasers that collided with him, and picked up the Fat Man. 'Whoa, this is heavy.'

'Leave it, Franks.' Mitchell said. 'The world is dangerous enough without you getting your hands on a nuke-flinger.'

'Aw. But I wanted to nuke something.' He moaned over SQUADCOM. Scott clamped his rifle to his back and stood next to Hullum.

'So, what's our next move?' he asked as Mitchell and the ODSTs began policing the battlefield for survivors.

'Stay here until a fresh Brotherhood detachment can take over.' Hullum said. 'After that, we'll head to Rivet City. Canterbury Commons is too far away to make it back to the Citadel before nightfall and there's no guarantee the traders I need to speak with will be there.'

'How long until we'll be relieved?' Scott wondered as he and the Knight headed for the Monument, Fawkes following them.

'An hour or two, tops.' Hullum guessed, shrugging. 'They're coming from Project Purity once their fight is finished but from what I heard, Talon Company isn't giving up on the purifier so it could be longer than that.'

'If you say so.' Scott said before switching to SQUADCOM. 'Alpha Squad, we're digging in for the time being. I want a perimeter up and running in less than five, with foxholes at regular intervals. Police any weapons and ammo you find then bring them to the main gate of the compound.'

'Yes, sir.' Mitchell responded, giving his own orders out to the individual ODSTs. 'Though what about ammo for us?'

'I'll radio for a Pelican to resupply us.' The Spartan promised. He did a quick check of his ammunition situation, finding he had five spare magazines. 'Something tells me we'll be busy in the days ahead.'


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Eleven

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 0906 Hours, September 10, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

In the two days since the Raid on the Washington Monument, Scott and Alpha Squad had helped repel attackers from the Jefferson Memorial as well as retake Arlington Library, their only injuries being a sprained ankle and a concussion. Following that, Hullum had taken them to Rivet City, a beached aircraft carrier housing a large settlement, to get some information.

Now, the Marines and their Spartan CO were sat inside the Pentagon's underground laboratory whilst Hullum, Sarah and several Brotherhood members were discussing the conflict with Talon Company.

'So, did your visit to Rivet City tell you anything useful?' Sarah asked. She had gathered them around a wall-mounted screen covered with varying legends, six of which were accompanied by a number. Each of the Brotherhood's main bases of operations were displayed as well.

Hullum shrugged. 'Yes and no.' He pulled out a paper note from a pouch on his armour and held it out to Sarah. 'Harkness says the city has seen an increase in profits over the last few years, in particular from Flak 'N Shrapnel and Potomac Attire, but he puts it down to the travellers drawn by the purifier.'

'And you don't?' Rothchild said as Sarah plucked the note from Hullum's grasp.

'No.' Hullum folded his arms and stared at the screen. 'I spoke with the merchants there, and while they've been getting more caps, they haven't been getting as many customers. Just bigger orders.' He tapped several locations on the map. 'Most of the smaller settlements out in the wastes have been putting bigger orders in, but they're not enough to explain away the rise Rivet City's seen.'

'Then how do you explain it?' Sarah said, scrutinising the map alongside Hullum. 'Because Talon Company hasn't been seen at Rivet City, or Canterbury Commons. In fact, they haven't been seen anywhere near a merchant since the Brotherhood came to DC.'

'Which is why I think they're using a third party to get their supplies.' Hullum took the note back from Sarah and drew her attention to a single name on the list. 'She's been a repeat customer to Flak 'N Shrapnel for over ten years. Always buys the same stuff but the quantity has slowly been rising to the point where she needs a couple of Brahmin to carry it all.'

'How often does this Jane Smith visit Rivet City?' Sarah stared at the name.

'Every week or so, according to Flak.' Hullum said, recalling his conversation with the arms merchant. 'And if she keeps to her routine, Jane should be making a trip in the next day to collect her latest shipment.'

'Provided, of course, that Talon Company is still trying to resupply.' Scott put forward as he stood and joined the Brotherhood group. 'If Jane Smith has been buying munitions for them over the past decade, they should have a sizable armoury located wherever they're based. Assuming it's just her making a weekly trip, that's over five hundred times they've added to it. Factor in additional suppliers, whatever they can scavenge and maybe even a limited capacity to manufacture their own equipment, Talon Company could have enough guns and ammunition to keep this fight going for months.'

'There's a cheering thought.' Hullum muttered. 'We've got barely forty combat ready Knights and Paladins with only enough ammunition for maybe two weeks of solid fighting, and Talon Company seems to have a nearly inexhaustible supply of both.'

'Which means we have to nip this in the bud as soon as we can.' Sarah ordered. She took a closer look at the map and measured out a set distance. 'Brahmin can only maintain a slow pace, especially if they're carrying a lot of weight, and given the fact that Jane is there week in and week out, we can assume Talon Company's base isn't too far away. Call it three days to walk there, a day to unload and rest, and three to walk back.' Sarah marked a square several paces away from Rivet City's approximate location. 'That narrows down our search quite a bit.'

'Yes, to an expansive urban setting.' Rothchild noted. The Scribe tapped a few buttons on the side of the map and turned off the screen not inside the area Sarah had drawn up. 'Sewers, subways, dozens of intact buildings. Talon Company could be in any one of them.'

'So start a process of elimination.' Tara said, broadcasting on the Spartan's speakers. 'Areas which you or non-Talon Company members pass through regularly, places too small to support large groups or are inaccessible for brahmin to use should be the first off your list.'

'Okay, _that _is a little weird.' Hullum said, pointing at Scott.

'You get used to it.' he replied, brushing the issue away. 'But Tara has the right idea. Eliminate structures that can't contain a large fighting force and their supplies, draw up a boundary based on their logistical capability and start searching all the places that remain. If I were in Talon Company's position, I'd want a good solid base that has limited points of access and the ability to house all of my people for an extended period of time. Old military facilities, small sized towns. Maybe even a bunker.'

Something in both Sarah and Hullum's eyes flashed at what Scott had said and they both went to the map. 'Say you were in their shoes, Commander.' Hullum said. 'And you had a couple of hundred men to hide somewhere. What would you do if you did come across an underground bunker?'

'Take control of it.' Scott said, scanning the screen and saw what Hullum was looking at. 'A location like that would be a prime headquarters and easy to defend.' He stepped closer and studied the icon Hullum was grinning at. It was a gear shape with a three digit number displayed underneath.

'Vault 108.' The Knight murmured. 'So that's where you're all hiding.'

'_Could _be hiding.' Tara countered. 'There are still numerous places Talon Company may be instead.'

'True.' Hullum conceded, nodding his head. 'But this is where I think we'll find them. Sarah, how many men can you spare for an attack on this place?'

'I can give you the Pride.' She said. 'And probably a few stragglers. Then as soon as Project Purity and the Monument are fully secured, they'll be sent your way as well.'

'What about you, Commander?' Hullum arched an eyebrow as he turned to the Spartan.

'Might need a change of weaponry first but, yeah.' Scott said. 'We're with you.'

'I meant, can your people spare a few more troops?' Hullum clarified. 'Between you, the Pride and whoever we can spare, that leaves only twenty-five bodies to take on a Vault full of mercenaries.'

'Oh.' Scott cocked his head, thinking. 'I'd have to clear it with Captain McNeal first but we should be able to supply more Marines.'

'Great.' Sarah said. 'When can they be here?'

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 1032 Hours, September 10, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott craned his neck upwards to see the Pelican descend from the air, dust and litter blowing past his legs as the craft came lower. The pilot made a series of small adjustments then finally landed the dropship and lowered the rear ramp. Twelve ODSTs streamed out, armed with assault rifles and shotguns, the M90A model.

'Staff Sergeant Adams?' The Spartan said to the Helljumper with a red patch on her shoulder.

'That's me, sir.' The NCO responded, saluting Scott which he promptly returned. 'Bravo Squad is ready to kick ass and chew gum. And we're all outta gum.'

'Good to hear it, Staff.' Scott said, watching as the Helljumpers of Bravo Squad quickly joined up with Alpha. 'Did you bring additional ammo and weapons?'

'Yes, sir. It's on the Pelican.' Adams directed two of her men to bring it off, Mitchell doing the same with his. 'There's even a special package for you, Commander.' She ducked into the troop compartment and returned with a small box, handing it to Scott. 'Something the techies cooked up, said it would help down here.'

The Spartan opened the container and saw a bubble shield generator, modified so that it no longer had a stand. Instead, it was mounted on a module that would fit to the lower back of Scott's MJOLNIR armour and, possibly, power it. 'Does it work?'

'No idea, sir.' Adams replied. 'One of the engineers handed it to me in the hangar and told me to give it to you. That's all I know.' Scott clipped the device into place, noting a small icon appear on his HUD. It was circular with a honeycomb pattern on the inside.

'It's a makeshift drop shield.' Tara said, sounding a little impressed as she ran the device through a diagnostic. 'A rough copy of the prototypes ONI is working on, mind you, but initial tests show it should work.'

'Can you give me anything more specific?' Scott asked, allowing Adams to return to her squad as they set up a temporary armoury nearby. 'Shield strength, power consumption, any drawbacks you can see.'

'Yes, Commander.' Tara brought up a schematic of the module, rotating the image slowly. 'The generator has been modified so that it can be reused and the shield lasts for thirty seconds, not twenty, at a cost of strength, meaning it will collapse prematurely under sustained fire. Power is drained directly from your suit's power pack so there's no need to manually initiate a recharge cycle.'

'How long to fully charge it?' The Spartan minimised the image and moved to the armoury, clipping half a dozen spare magazines for his assault rifle into place.

'Sixty-three seconds, give or take two seconds.' Tara said. 'Though I won't know for sure until it gets tested in a live-fire scenario.'

'What about its strength?' Scott wondered, watching as Mitchell stopped two ODSTs from fighting over a shotgun by taking the weapon for himself. 'You said it wasn't as powerful as a normal bubble shield.'

'Anywhere between three to six times more powerful than your current shields.' The AI guessed. 'Again, I'll know more when it gets tested in real combat.'

'Any design concerns that you can see?' He idly felt the small node on his back, frowning at how much it protruded. Scott would have to take it off whenever he sat down, or see if the engineer who had built it could slim the profile down.

'None that are of any concern in the short term.' Tara said. 'Long term, though, could see the generator fail after repeated usage. ONI didn't design the bubble shield to be used multiple times, as reinforcing the components would make the generator heavier than it already is and require Marine and ODST forces to carry additional, not to mention bulky, equipment with them on deployments to recharge them.'

'Best guess on how many times I can rely on it to work, then?' Scott asked. By now, the Helljumpers had resupplied whatever ammunition they needed and were taking the remaining supplies underground.

'Unknown.' Tara offered after three seconds. 'I think anything after the first try is going to be iffy. Reduced power or not, the bubble shield was never intended for repeated use and the strain of trying to keep the shield up under fire may cause it burn out. Additionally, diverting power from your suit to maintain it for an extended amount of time could end the same way whilst draining the suit's own shields.'

'So, don't use it unless I have to and avoid powering it directly.' The Spartan summarised as he took one box from a struggling Marine, carrying the heavy crate with ease.

'That would be my recommendation, Commander.' She brought the schematic up again then dismissed it as Scott entered the underground laboratory. All of the UNSC troops were clustered on one side of the room, the Brotherhood on the other. Scott placed his box with the others then stood alongside Hullum and Sarah as they poured over the wall-mounted map.

'Additional ODSTs planetside.' He announced, making the pair glance his way.

'How many did you get?' Hullum wondered as he turned back to the screen. Vault 108 was highlighted and various Brotherhood positions were as well.

'Twelve.' Scott said, Mitchell and Adams joining the Spartan.

'Twelve?' Sarah repeated, shifting her attention to the UNSC group. She frowned as though expecting more. 'That doesn't sound like much to take on a Vault.'

'Sounds like plenty to me, don't it Staff?' Mitchell said, the two sergeants bristling at Sarah's assessment of them.

'It sure does, Gunny.' Adams agreed. 'Twenty-four of the most badass soldiers the UNSC can produce, lead by an even more badass one, versus a bunch of limp-wristed mercs using sub-standard weapons?' She cracked her neck and knuckles. 'It'll be like a training exercise.'

'Then let's make it interesting.' Mitchell challenged, turning to Adams. 'My boys versus your girls. First to get their sector clear wins. Loser has to do whatever the winner says. Deal?' He held his hand out.

'Deal.' She took his hand and pumped it. 'I've always wanted to see Alpha do the cha-cha in tutus.'

'Beat us, and you might get the chance.' The senior of the two chuckled darkly. 'And make sure Bravo has got their pom-poms ready. My boys, Charlie and Delta could do with a funny show.'

'Are you two serious?' Sarah said, looking at the two ODSTs as though they were insane. 'We're planning a major offensive against an enemy who have the advantages of numbers and being on home ground in their favour, and you're both making jokes. What kind of soldiers are you?'

'Good question.' Mitchell said, turning to his men. 'Marines, who are the meanest, toughest, craziest son of a bitches in the known galaxy?'

'The 105th Shock Troops.' They chorused back.

'What do we do?' Adams yelled.

'Kick alien ass.' Came the response.

'Why?' Both NCOs asked.

'Because we can!' All twenty four Marines chanted together. 'Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, we jump feet first into hell and make the devil our bitch!' The corner of Scott's mouth twitched upward, a rare occurrence for the normally taciturn and focused Spartan, as he watched the Helljumpers display their professional pride to the Brotherhood commanders.

'You people really are insane.' Sarah finally said, shaking her head.

'It's one of the requirements.' Mitchell told her, arms folded across his chest. 'Am I right, Marines?'

'Sir, yes sir!' they replied. 'Helljumper qualification number one: be batshit crazy.'

'Damn right it is.' The Gunnery Sergeant said. Scott's mouth twitched upward again. It was amusing in a way to see the differing mentalities of the two groups clash, no-nonsense versus gung-ho. The Brotherhood might get the job done, but they lacked an ODST's humour and drive.

'I still don't think we'll be able to take the Vault.' Sarah muttered, turning her back on the UNSC soldiers. 'Especially if two of the people who should be taking this seriously are making stupid bets instead of focusing on planning the assault.' Mitchell started to move towards her but Scott stopped him with a shake of his head.

'I'll handle her, Gunny.' He said on a private COM channel.

'You say so, sir.' Mitchell backed off, standing shoulder to shoulder with Adams.

'If you have a problem with my people, then say it to our faces.' Scott said evenly, squaring up to Sarah. She glanced at him then faced him fully, the bones in her neck popping as she raised her head to meet the Spartan's faceless one. Even though Sarah wore the Brotherhood's power armour, it did nothing to close the gap between her and Scott who still managed to tower over Sarah. 'Don't turn your back on us.' He kept his arms hanging by his sides, hand inches from his pistol.

'Or what?' Sarah challenged, trying her best to intimidate the Spartan.

'We withdraw our support and get the information we need another way.' Behind his visor, Scott's face was a grim mask. He'd faced off against Covenant Elites and Brutes before, killing his first alien at the age of twelve. Sarah couldn't hope to terrify him.

'And where are you going to find it?' she asked. 'As far as we know, the Citadel has the only working archives not inside a Vault that contains what you need.'

'I never said we'd go to a different location.' Scott corrected. 'Just try another method of getting it.' Sarah started to say something but Hullum cut her off, pulling her shoulder back and nodding at the ODSTs spread throughout the room. They had slowly and silently moved to either side of Scott whilst he had been talking with Sarah and all had their weapons in hand. There was a series of clicks as safeties were disengaged and several crunch-crunch noises as shotguns were pumped. A universal sound that meant 'you're screwed'.

'You wouldn't.' Sarah finally said.

'Only if I have to.' The Spartan answered. 'But it would be better for both parties involved if that option was never explored.'

'So why think it?' Hullum asked quietly, hand resting on the handle of his own pistol.

'Because my orders are to get the data by any means necessary.' Scott briefly touched his own gun but took his hand away. 'How I do it is down to you. I'm still willing to help with Talon Company in exchange for the files, like we originally agreed, but I won't hesitate to take them by force if you go back on our deal and try to prevent us from accessing them.' Mitchell and Adams drew their weapons, silently flanking Scott as he waited for Sarah to respond. 'The choice is yours.'

**Spartan-B124, near outskirts of Washington, DC. 0135 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'Alpha Squad, take the left flank. Bravo, go right. Keep out of their line of sight and wait for my signal to move.' Scott ordered, keeping low as he and the joint UNSC-BoS force moved closer to the entrance of Vault 108. 'No grenades unless things go bad.' They all flashed a green acknowledgement light back.

In the time since the confrontation beneath the Pentagon, Sarah finally backing down at the request of Hullum and Rothchild, Scott and the high ranking Brotherhood soldiers had devised a plan of attack to tackle the mercenary base.

The UNSC personnel would lead the assault, breaching Talon Company's outer defences, before securing the area directly inside the Vault's entrance. There, they'd split up into fireteams of four and head to different sections. Alpha-1, -2 and -3 would tackle the living quarters and reactor level, backed up by Hullum and the Lyon's Pride. Bravo-1,-2 and -3 had the medical section.

But first, they had to get inside. Scott had put forward the idea of beginning the attack in the middle of the night, saying the mercenaries would be mostly asleep and inattentive, whilst the darkness meant they could close the gap without being seen too early. Sarah had protested, stating the darkness would put them at a disadvantage as well. He had assured her it wouldn't be.

'Commander? Eyes on five hostiles armed with small arms and two turrets.' Mitchell reported. 'Orders?'

'Hold position, Alpha Lead.' Scott said, signalling for the Brotherhood troops behind him to halt. Sarah had unhappily given up tactical command for the attack and the Spartan was worried that she might go against his orders. 'Wait for Bravo to get ready.'

'Yes, sir.' Mitchell said. The original plan to storm the entrance had been based on the idea Talon Company would have more men stationed outside, and the two ODST squads would attack from the sides whilst Scott and the Pride would take the middle. With only seven out, it seemed like overkill but Scott knew the Helljumpers wouldn't mind.

'Target status?' he asked, giving a series of hand signals to the Brotherhood, telling them to fan out and use concealment as they made their approach.

'Pathetic.' Mitchell said. 'Two look like they're asleep, another's taking a piss and the last two are smoking.'

'And the turrets?' Scott came to a halt behind an outcropping, checking his weapons were ready.

'Sweeping the area. Should we use grenades to take them out?'

'Negative.' Scott said. 'Massed fire from your assault rifles should be enough. Save the grenades for any robots that might show up.'

'Rodger. Alpha, no explosions unless we see tripods.' The Gunnery Sergeant ordered.

'Bravo, are you in position?' Scott asked, switching to the other squad's COM channel. 'Alpha's getting impatient.'

'Just about, sir.' Adams said. 'We've had to slow down because of the ground. It's a little uneven.' She grunted. 'Okay, we're in position. Ready to go on your word, Commander.'

'Copy, Bravo Lead.' Scott crept around the rock he was using as cover until he could see the five mercenaries and their turret companions. To his left and right, the members of the Lyon's Pride were crouched, waiting for the attack to start. Hullum nodded at Scott.

'Helljumpers, weapons free.' Scott ordered as he stood. 'Hit them!'


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Twelve

**Spartan-B124, interior of fallout shelter Vault 108. 0148 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The initial assault was, as Scott predicted, a classic case of overkill. Twenty-five of the UNSC's elite troops, carrying high calibre weapons, and seven of the Brotherhood's best, also carrying powerful guns, quickly swarmed and overpowered the five mercenaries and two turrets in less than three seconds and were inside the entry tunnel after ten. They quickly secured the area immediately inside the Vault's entrance and Scott gave the ODSTs their orders.

'Bravo Squad, take the cloning labs and eliminate all hostiles. They may be using it as a triage or additional bunking for their men so it'll be defended. Expect a heavy fight and watch for floor based traps.' He said to Adams and the leaders of Bravo-2 and -3. They saluted and ran for the door leading into the section. When they were gone, Scott turned to Mitchell and Alpha.

'Alpha Squad, you're with me and the Brotherhood. We're going after both the main barracks and reactor level. Alpha-3, you'll be on rearguard. Watch for snipers and keep our fallback route open in case things go bad.' Scott looked to the Brotherhood soldiers, weapons drawn and eager to fight. 'Hullum, you and the Pride are on fire support for the duration of this assault. Only engage Talon Company directly if the ODSTs get pushed back and need help. Understood?'

'Not really.' Sarah said, hefting a laser rifle. 'We're just as good as you people and besides, this is _our _fight, not yours. Why are we stuck at the back?'

'Because the ODSTs are better.' Scott said bluntly. 'I don't care what you say, you're not as elite as you think. By UNSC standards, you rank just above Marine trainees or Colonial Militia members, the only difference being the armour you wear and some of the weapons.' He nodded at the laser rifle Sarah carried and the Gatling laser Paladin Glade wielded. 'Your training is basic at best, covering unit cohesion and marksmanship only, whilst neglecting concepts like fire and manoeuvre or using the terrain to your advantage, preferring to rush the opponent even if you're defending an outpost and it's in the open.'

'And what we've done over the past thirty years, restore some sort of order to the Capital Wasteland as well as driving off the Enclave,' Sarah gestured to the outside world. 'Does that sound like something a bunch of trainees could do?'

'Yeah, seeing as how you've fought against brainless mutants and drug addicts with shite weapons the entire time.' Mitchell said, backing the Spartan up. 'Basic military training is usually a lot better than no military training. As for this Enclave, you did have a _giant robot_ doing most of the work.'

'Up until it was destroyed.' Hullum pointed out. 'After that, the Brotherhood was forced to fight the Enclave by themselves and still won.

'At a great cost, no doubt.' Scott said, looking down the hallway leading into the Vault as gunfire echoed down its length.

'_Commander, contact made with hostiles. Bravo is engaging.' _Adams broadcast over SQUADCOM, sounding calm amid the clatter of automatic fire. '_Proceeding to objective.'_

'Copy, Bravo Lead. Radio if you need help.' Scott answered.

'_Will do, sir.' _The NCO promised. '_But considering the fight these guys are putting up, I doubt I will.' _She ended the transmission as the remaining ODSTs and Scott checked their weapons one final time.

'Remember, Alpha-1 and -2 are on point with me whilst -3 provides backup. Sentinel, you and your troops are on fire support until further notice. Do not engage Talon Company unless they manage to push us back.' The Spartan ordered. 'Clear?' Sarah didn't say anything, nor did Hullum and the others.

'Clear?' Scott said again, more forcefully than before as he moved to tower over Sarah and Hullum. They relented under his faceless glare and nodded.

'Fine. But don't expect us to be happy about.' Sarah muttered darkly as she waited to Alpha Squad to pass.

'If you want, we could always have a little competition when we get back.' Mitchell offered as he went by the Pride. 'See who the better squad is.'

'I think we both know the answer to that, Gunnery Sergeant.' Tara said over SQUADCOM.

'Maybe.' He responded, laughing a little. 'But I'm an old school Marine. I like concrete evidence that says Helljumpers are the best. Although we might have to falsify your records a bit, Franks.'

'Hey!' the Helljumper protested in a mock hurt tone. 'Just because I'm the most handsome out of the lot of you doesn't mean I'm the worst one.'

'No, the fact that you fell asleep on the drop in does.' Chang joked. 'And sleeping through your alarm clock as well definitely counts.' They arrived the door leading into the living quarters, Scott taking point with Alpha-1 behind him.

'It's not my fault those Navy nurses were so eager to show their appreciation for my rugged good looks the night before.' Franks said as he shouldered his assault rifle. 'Especially that redheaded one.'

'Cut the chatter.' Mitchell barked as they came to a door. 'Franks, save the fantasies for your bunk. Right now, we've got work to do.' Mitchell and Joey assumed a position either side of Scott, weapons held at the ready, as he reached for the door controls.

'Standby.' Scott warned before pressing the switch, activating the opening mechanism. The door slid open, groaning as the rusted metal moved, and revealed a corridor that was in just as bad a condition as the rest of the Vault. The walls were chipped and covered in grime, every piece of metal coated in rust and the lights set into the ceiling seemed to be on their last legs.

Scott didn't focus on it, sprinting down the hallway as soon as the gap in the door was wide enough to squeeze his frame through. He had to slow himself considerably to give the Helljumper's a chance to keep up with him, though, and paused at the top of a flight of steps to let them catch up. When they had, Scott continued at a slower pace as the steps levelled out and deposited them on a short stretch of hallway with another mechanical door at the far end, the living quarters on the other side.

'Sir, door up on the right.' Mitchell noted, nestling his shotgun to his shoulder.

'I see it, Gunny.' Scott said. He signalled for the group to halt just before a window set into the wall, plucking his fibre optic probe from its compartment and angled the camera built in the end to peer into the room.

'Eyes on four hostiles, possible five, crouched behind makeshift barricades with light weaponry, mostly assault rifles and one shotgun. Clustered close together.' the Spartan relayed over SQUADCOM.

'Frags?' Mitchell speculated.

'Frags.' Scott confirmed. The two dropped to a crouch and shuffled under the window, taking it slowly until they were either side of the door leading into the small space, Scott stood next to the one leading into the main living quarters. Both men drew a single grenade and held them ready to throw.

'On three.' Scott said, free hand poised over the activation switch. Mitchell nodded. 'One, two, three!'

He flipped the switch and once the door began to pull apart, Scott chucked his grenade in, the NCO beside him waiting for the door to open more fully. They both shied away from the now open portal in time for the explosives to detonate, turning the men inside to bloodied ribbons before they could even shout in alarm.

'Targets eliminated.' Tara announced as the last body part fell.

'Okay, people, this is where the fun begins.' Mitchell said as he and Scott took up similar positions in front of the final door, weapons ready to be brought up to fire. 'The enemy has the advantage of numbers, knowing the terrain and having a fuck-load of ammo. What do we have?'

'Helljumpers!' Alpha Squad chanted back, pumping themselves up. Hullum, Sarah, and the Pride shared looks of disbelief at this.

'Damn right we do.' Mitchell agreed. 'So when we get out there, I want to see Helljumpers do what they do best. Causing total chaos and destruction in the most brutal way possible. Do it quick, and Bravo's gonna put a little song and dance on for us.' He readied his gun, prompting Alpha to do the same. 'Make me proud, boys.'

'Troopers, stand by to engage.' Scott said as he reached for the door switch. 'Hostility commencing in three seconds. Two. One.' The Spartan toggled the switch, causing the door to open in the same way as the previous two. It split apart near the bottom, one part fitting flush into the floor whilst the other rose upwards.

Unlike the first two, however, the gap was quickly filled with bullets and yelled obscenities at the attacking force.

'Go, go, go!' Scott shouted, snapping his rifle up and diving through the now open door into a wide open space at least two storeys high. On the ground floor he could see around four rooms branching off the main one on either side, each entrance barricaded with some material and occupied by half a dozen Talon Company mercenaries. The level above had a metal gantry spanning it, also filled with mercenaries that fired on the UNSC group.

'Alpha-3, contacts on the upper level. Target and engage. Alpha-2, take the left flank and secure the first room. Alpha-1, ditto the right. Move, Helljumpers.' The Spartan fired a controlled burst at the closest available target, centre mass, and put him down. Quite a few rounds struck his shields and dropped their charge to about half, then a third. 'Tara, keep an eye on the Brotherhood troops. Alert me if they go against orders.'

'Yes, Commander.' Tara said. Scott had his reservations about the Pride. Whilst they may have been trying to keep the peace in the DC ruins for nearly three decades, Mitchell had pointed out their only opponents to date were either dumb mutants or drug addicts who lacked basic knowledge in urban warfare, had poor weapon skills and only persisted because the Brotherhood lacked sufficient manpower to properly eradicate them. Even when they went up against the Enclave, a group with similar weapons and armour, they relied heavily on a giant robot to do most of the work. With it gone, the Brotherhood soon suffered high casualties as they continued their campaign.

What worried Scott the most was the Pride itself. They considered themselves elite troops, Sarah especially, and hadn't taken too kindly to the ODSTs arriving and outperforming them. Even during the planning for the assault on Vault 108, Mitchell and Adams had shown a better ability to come up with strategies than Sarah and Scott saw it had irritated her, Hullum as well to a lesser extent. It had left him with a worry she'd try to prove the Spartan wrong by launching her own attack, regardless of the situation they were in.

That worry was at the back of Scott's mind, a small whisper that wouldn't go away. At the forefront of his mind, however, was the battle raging around them. Scott crabbed sideways, firing an entire magazine at a team of mercenaries, providing cover fire for Alpha-1 as they cleared out the first room on the right hand side of the atrium.

'Room secure, Commander.' Mitchell relayed over the COM.

'Same here, sir.' Edwin, Alpha-2's leader, added from the other side.

'Good.' Scott ducked into the bloodied room, allowing his shields to recharge. They had collapsed but none of the weapons Talon Company had were strong enough to breach the armour's outer layer.

'Orders?' Mitchell asked, crouched in the doorframe.

'Press on to the cafeteria, one room over.' Scott said. He peered around the edge of the door and mulled over the options. 'Alpha-2, can you secure the room up from you?'

'I think we can manage that.' Edwin confirmed. 'We'll need some suppressive fire to keep them in the cafeteria from taking pot-shots.'

'Acknowledged.' Scott switched to Alpha-3's COM. 'Corporal Turner, move to Alpha-2's position and cover them whilst they make a move to a new location. New targets are in the room one up from Alpha-1.'

'Yes, sir.' Turner, Alpha-3's commander, replied. 'On our way.'

'Alpha-2, suppressive fire until Alpha-3 gets there then make a break for your objective. Short, staggered bursts, no grenades.' Scott ordered, reloading his rifle. 'Alpha-1, as soon as they're in position, get ready to take the cafeteria.' He watched as the four man team under Turner burst from cover and sprinted to Edwin's team, assumed defensive positions and began firing at the open door leading into the cafeteria. Talon Company seemed to have a higher concentration of troops there, possibly because it also contained the passage leading to the reactor for the Vault.

'This is Alpha-2, we're moving.' Thankfully, none of them had their weapons pointed at the ODSTs as all of the mercenaries inside the dining hall had ducked into cover once Turner and his men opened fire on their position, giving Alpha-2 a chance to get to the room opposite, clear it of hostiles, and turn their guns on them as well.

'Alpha-1, on me.' Scott said, stepping back into the atrium. Blood covered the floor, all of it Talon Company's, and slowly spread so it left no patch of concrete untouched. The Spartan paid it no attention, casting his eye upwards instead to the gantries. Over a dozen corpses were strung out on them, some still clinging to assault rifles and sniper rifles, taken down by Alpha-3. Scott saw more rooms lining the second level.

'Sentinel, take your men upstairs and check it's secured.' He ordered.' I don't want any nasty surprises lurking up there.'

The Brotherhood squad, who up until this point had barely fired their weapons since coming inside the Vault, quickly ran to an opening across from Scott and disappeared inside it, only to remerge on the upper level a few seconds later.

'I got a bad feeling about them.' Joey broke in over SQUADCOM.

'Really?' Mitchell flatly inquired as he and Alpha-1 crept towards the cafeteria. 'What makes you say that?'

'I think it hurt their professional pride being shoved to the back like they were.' Joey explained. 'Even if they are sloppy, they still think they're elite soldiers and getting upstaged by others sort of ruins the whole mentality thing knowing there's a bigger kid on the playground who can beat the tar out of them.' Scott held up a hand, signalling for the Helljumpers to stop just short of the door.

'You know what it's like, Gunny.' Joey continued. 'No offense, Commander, but when Spartans were introduced the ODSTs weren't the toughest anymore. We were second best.'

'You still inspire hope in pinned down Marines, private.' Scott said as he edged closer to the door. 'Don't forget that.'

'Yeah, but not as much as you would, sir.' The ODST said. 'I mean, I've been saved by Spartans no end of times and seeing one of you come smashing through a line of Elites, shrugging off plasma bolts like they were flies, is nothing short of being the most awe inspiring thing a Marine can see but ODSTs just don't have that same effect.'

'And you think that the Brotherhood feels they've been replaced.' Tara speculated. 'Like you did when the Spartans were introduced?'

'Sort of.' Joey shrugged from Alpha-2's position. 'Though I guess it's worse, seeing as how this is _their _fight and we've taken control of the operation.' He fired a brief burst at a mercenary inside the cafeteria, deterring the man from moving out of cover.

'Does this discussion have a point?' Mitchell asked as Scott reached for a frag grenade, preparing to assault the last stronghold Talon Company had before the reactor level. 'Because if there is, I'd make it quick.'

'Not so much a point as it is a worry, Gunny.' Joey said. 'The Brotherhood might try to prove they're good soldiers by taking on a well defended position or something. You know, to show they can fight.'

'And in the process, hurt themselves or put everyone else at risk.' Scott finished. 'You're not the only one to worry about it, Trooper.' The Spartan readied the grenade. 'But right now, we need to focus on the matter in hand. Keep the hostiles suppressed until Alpha-1 moves to engage.'

'Yes, sir.' Joey responded, unleashing a barrage of gunfire alongside Alpha-2 and Alpha-3 to make sure the mercenaries stayed behind cover.

'Alpha-1, move on my signal.' Scott primed the grenade he held, waited for two seconds, then threw it in and followed soon after. The device exploded and showered the room with flying shrapnel, taking down maybe four but left another dozen or so upright. He was about to call Alpha-1 in, except that a mercenary quickly shut the doors leading into the cafeteria before he could and shot the controls, rendering them useless.

'Gunny, can you open the doors from your end?' Scott queried over SQUADCOM, ducking and diving as he tried to avoid the mass of bullets being sent his way whilst returning fire.

'Negative.' Mitchell said, a hint of frustration in his voice. 'Controls are smoking something fierce and I don't think my boys can force it up. The override handle's rusted away.'

'Do what you can.' Scott ordered, smashing the butt of his rifle into one man's face, his cheeks bones shattering under the impact. 'Tara, track all hostiles in the room and give me a head count.'

'Aye, Commander.' she said. 'Tracking a total of eight mercenaries, with possibly more incoming.'

'From where?' The Spartan delivered another strike with his gun, bringing it down on the neck of a man unlucky enough to stumble in front of him. There was a sickening snap and he crumpled to the floor.

'Reactor level.' Tara said. 'It would appear that Talon Company has quite a few reserves down there.'

'Gunny, status on your progress?' Scott demanded, swapping an empty magazine for a fresh one.

'Getting there, Commander. Got Joey rigging the door to blow.' The NCO answered. Scott risked peering through the window set into the wall and saw all of Alpha Squad watching the fight.

'Which ain't easy, seeing as I'm working with just frags and no dedicated explosives.' Joey said, irritation creeping into his voice. 'I'd be much happier if we had some plastic explosives.'

'Yeah, well, we don't.' Mitchell returned. 'Just get that thing set to go boom and tell us when you do.'

'Don't worry, Gunny. I will.'

Scott turned his attention back to the firefight, grunting as one mercenary fired a sniper rifle at him from near point blank range and hit him the stomach. Scott responded by yanking the long weapon from his grasp, dislocating the man's shoulder in the process, then proceeded to crush the barrel with his left hand whilst the right brought his own weapon up and sent a burst through the man's chest.

'Damn, Commander. That was brutal.' Chang commented. 'Almost Helljumper brutal.' Scott ignored him, choosing the smack a mercenary that had tried to sneak up on him with the butt stock of the captured sniper rifle. Blood and teeth went flying, accompanied by the rifle itself as the Spartan tried to use it as a makeshift javelin to impale another mercenary. Whilst it failed to act like a spear, the rifle still managed to collide with the target's throat and broke the bones there, choking him instead.

'I take it back, sir.' Chang rectified. '_That _was brutal.'

'Just don't get on his bad side.' Tara advised in a playful tone as Scott delivered a powerful kick to the nearest target, catching him in the chest. Even over the sounds of gunfire, bones could be heard breaking as Scott sidestepped the wounded man and slowly began eliminating the remaining mercenaries.

'Okay, I think I've got it.' Joey said over SQUADCOM. 'No idea whether it'll work or not but here goes.' The Marines looking in through the window backed away from it and away from the door. 'Makeshift door opener made from grenades in three, two, one.' Joey activated the explosive, mildly buckling the steel panels and causing a large amount of smoke but the door remained in place.

'Well, shit.' The ODST swore as he inspected the damage. Scott glanced at it as well before firing a well placed burst at the last target inside the cafeteria. 'Anybody got any ideas?'

'You're the explosives expert here.' Mitchell responded. 'We thought you had a backup plan for this thing when it failed.'

'No!' Joey grunted in frustration and lashed out at the warped metal in front of him. 'Because we don't have anything else to use. Our grenades are the only explosive things we have and now, short of a plasma cutter or some jaws of life taking a crack at it, this thing ain't going nowhere.'

Scott crouched by the still open doorway Talon Company had fought to defend, rifle aimed down the hallway beyond in case more hostiles arrived. It was a short corridor, ending with a T-junction. 'Can you give me a damage assessment, Marine?'

'On what? The door?' Joey asked, still sounding annoyed.

'Yes. How much damage did the grenades actually do?'

'Uh, wait one, sir.' Joey started muttering under his breath as he examined door before coming back. 'They bent the panel a bit, by about half an inch I think, and scorched what little paint was left off. Other than that, the grenades didn't do anything.'

'Tara, analyse the door and tell me about its construction.' The Spartan ordered, sending a brief burst of fire downrange as three blips appeared on his motion tracker and made their way towards him. He eyed the readout on his assault rifle. It read twenty rounds, about two-thirds of a full magazine remaining, but Scott only had a further five full clips spare. The protracted firefight by himself had drained a lot of his supplies and with the Vault half cleared, Scott worried he might run out of ammo before it the attack was over.

'Analysis complete, Commander.' Tara brought up a wire frame drawing of the doors that filled Vault 108, rotating it slowly and keeping it transparent enough so Scott could still see any hostiles. 'The doors are made out of an inferior quality steel compared to UNSC materials, their condition worsened by years of neglect and rust, leaving the tensile strength to be approximately three-quarters what it once was.'

'How thick are they?' Scott asked, offhandedly hitting one mercenary brave enough to step out from behind cover in the stomach with a triple tap. The man went down and was quickly dragged back to safety.

'Five centimetres, give or take a few millimetres.' Her tone made Scott imagine her avatar would have added a shrug to go with it, facial expressions of uncertainty to match. 'The blasts might have shaved a few off as well but it's hard to tell with your suit's sensors.'

'What would it take to punch through it?'

'That depends.' The AI said. 'Do you mean ordnance wise or your fist?'

'My fist.' Scott confirmed. Another mercenary poked their head around the corner, only to pull it back in again as the Spartan fired a triple tap at the wall.

'Well, factoring the MJOLNIR's force amplifier, your physical strength, the strength of the door and its recent bout with a makeshift bomb, I'd say there's a good chance you'd be able to punch through the metal and reach the other side. However,' Tara said as Scott began moving to the door. 'Punching through it is one thing. Making a hole big enough for ODSTs and the Brotherhood of Steel is another matter entirely.'

'So what do you propose?'

'Have the Marines shoot an area that's the same size and shape as a human, then take a running start at it. The resulting lack of strength should make the door weak enough that half a ton of speeding Spartan can break it down.' Tara even generated a crude animation showing what she meant.

'And if that doesn't work?' Scott asked, changing directions so he was away from the door.

'We come up with a new method and go from there.' The AI dissolved the clip.

'Very well.' Scott switched the Alpha's SQUADCOM. 'Gunny, have your men shoot a human sized shape in the door until the surface is almost completely covered in holes then stand clear. I'm going to be coming through it.'

'Got it. Troopers, you heard the Commander. Open fire on the door and get it looking like Swiss cheese. He's gonna steamroll into it so we can all carry on kicking ass and would appreciate some assistance.' Mitchell ordered from outside. 'You boys know how delicate these Spartans are.'

'Clear the lane, Commander.' Tara advised, even though Scott was well away from the door. He kept his back to it, watching the hallway leading into the reactor for more of Talon Company's seemingly endless supply of men. Scott swapped his assault rifle for his pistol, trading firepower for accuracy until he could resupply. Behind him, all twelve of Alpha Squad simultaneously opened fire and unleashed a storm of bullets into the jammed door, the 7.62mm armour-piercing rounds easily tearing through the metal.

'Cease fire, cease fire.' Mitchell barked after five seconds. Scott turned around to see the door, as the Gunnery Sergeant had wanted, looked just like Swiss cheese with most of the holes clustered in a stripe that ran from the top to the bottom. 'Commander, she's all yours.'

'Acknowledged.' Scott replied, repositioning so he was directly opposite the door. 'Stand clear, Troopers.'

'Yes, sir.' Mitchell said and began herding Alpha Squad away from Scott's potential exit. The Spartan eyed the distance between him and the bullet-ridden door, frowning at the shortness of it. He wouldn't be able to reach full speed before reaching the door and wasn't certain he'd be able to break through. Scott just shrugged and dropped to a crouch, bracing against the wall.

'Nothing ventured.' he said to no one in particular before exploding from his position and ran as quickly as he could for the blockage. It took Scott three steps to reach it, shoulder lowered and aimed at the centre of the bullet holes, and his shields flared as they made contact with the metal. He ignored it and carried on, driving over half a ton of man and machine into a five centimetre thick piece of old, rusted metal filled with holes.

Man and machine won, ending with Scott breaching the door and creating a jagged entry way for the Helljumpers to squeeze through whilst he stumbled but quickly regained his footing.

'Entrance created, Commander.' Tara announced.

'Good.' Scott turned to ODSTs. 'Alpha-1, secure the room and deter any curious mercenaries that may come. Wait for them to come to you.'

'You got it, sir.' Mitchell said, leading his troops through the newly made gap. It was a tight fit, with the larger of the fireteam having to duck.

'Alpha-2, Alpha-3, police all firearms in the area and store them in that room there.' Scott pointed to the room he and Alpha-1 had initially taken control of. 'And place all bodies in there.' He nodded at the one opposite. They nodded or made various acknowledgements then went to work, quickly and efficiently moving through the mess the atrium contained. Alpha-2 picked up all the weapons, Alpha-3 dragging the bodies away.

'So, aside from that one snag with the door it's been a very successful mission so far.' Tara said as Scott started to force the hole in the door wider, bending the larger pieces flat. 'No friendly casualties, from Alpha or Bravo, and the Brotherhood are behaving themselves.'

'So far.' Scott mused, straining slightly with one particularly stubborn bit of metal. 'How is Bravo getting on? Staff Sergeant Adams hasn't contacted us since the beginning of the attack.'

'Staff Sergeant Adams and Bravo Squad have achieved their objective and are currently performing a final sweep of their area for hostiles and weapon caches.' The AI said. 'Looks like Alpha's doing a little song and dance after all.' The thought of Mitchell and his squad doing a routine, even without frilly dresses, made Scott's mouth twitch upwards.

'Make sure we're there for that.' he murmured, the hole now big enough for even him to get through with ease. 'What about the Brotherhood? I haven't seen them since sending them upstairs.'

'They're not too far, Commander.' Tara brought up a rough map of Vault 108, taken from Hullum's Pip-Boy, and tagged a location barely four dozen metres from the main atrium they were in. 'I'm still able to pick up Hullum's signal, even if we are in a fallout shelter.'

'Drop a waypoint on him. I'll go and tell the Pride we're moving on.'

'Aye, sir.'

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**in orbit around Earth. 1002 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

McNeal frowned as he read through the report Clarke and a select group of others had written, often rereading sections that he either didn't understand or like, and kept quiet. Opposite him was Clarke, the chief engineer aboard the _Heavy _sweating as he waited for McNeal to finish the report. Sasha was there as well, her avatar the only one in the room who seemed relaxed but even then, it displayed a small degree of anxiety in the form of a tapping foot.

'You have five days, a handpicked team of both abstract thinkers and logical ones, full access to the ships sensor data and this is what you came up with?' McNeal finally said as he gestured to the report on his terminal, face a combination of several different emotions. The most visible ones were confusion and disbelief.

Clarke licked his lips nervously. 'Yes, sir. We looked at everything, even stuff that was way out of our depths, and took into account every variable. It's the only thing that made sense.'

'How can it?' McNeal asked. 'Everything was normal when we jumped. Everything. Not one thing wrong with it at all.' He poked the screen of his terminal. 'Which means, that should not be the only thing that makes sense.'

'Then what do you suggest, sir?' Clarke shot back. The engineer had bags under his eyes, varying stains covered his overalls and there was a faint odour of a man who hadn't bathed or showered properly for at least a week in the room. 'We literally clonked our heads together coming up with that idea, spending so much time awake and drinking so much coffee that the doctors actually ordered us to take a break, even a small nap, before we burnt ourselves out. Each idea we came up with, we debunked it until there was nothing left but that. If you can come up with a better reason, one that we haven't already thought up that explains everything, then let's here.' Clarke sat back, fighting off fatigue from not sleeping for the past week, and glared at McNeal with an intensity that could shatter a planet.

McNeal didn't say anything, he just looked at the final paragraph in the report.

_After spending the best of five days, five nights, and over twelve gallons of coffee on this problem, it is the finding of this committee/group/think thank that for reasons unknown, call it bad luck or divine intervention from some eldritch abomination covered in slime and tentacles, the UNSC _Heavy Hitter _and her crew has been transported to a parallel world. God help us._


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Thirteen

**Spartan-B124, interior of fallout shelter Vault 108. 0231 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott walked quietly up the stairs leading to the second level of Vault 108's living quarters, following the waypoint Tara had generated to the Pride's position and as he set foot onto the metal gantry that spanned the room, he heard a hushed conversation between the Brotherhood soldiers.

'So what if we've not done any fighting, Sarah.' Hullum whispered as the Spartan drew closer. 'It just means we haven't been put in harm's way. They've done all the heavy lifting.'

'Yeah, but this is our fight, not theirs, and they took control of this whole thing.' Sarah shot back. Scott came to a halt just outside the room they had all gathered in, keeping quiet to listen in on their discussion. 'I don't care if they are better than us. They have no right sticking us at the back.'

'You were the one who gave them control!' Hullum snapped. 'How their commander deploys us is up to him, not you. And did you see what they did down there? How they brushed Talon Company aside like they were nothing? We could never hope to do that, Sarah, and you know it.'

'At least we would have been doing something that wasn't sitting in a hallway with our thumbs up our asses.' the Brotherhood commander said angrily. 'We're soldiers too, no matter what they say, and deserve to be treated like them.'

'Which is what it all boils down to, isn't it?' Hullum hissed. 'You're just pissed that the UNSC guys compared us to trainees.'

'They had no right to.' Sarah yelled. 'Poor training or not, we've been fighting in hell for the past thirty years and managed to keep some peace in the major settlements. I'd like to know what they've been through that makes them think so highly of themselves.'

'We've been fighting a war against an alien alliance.' Scott said, announcing his presence. The Spartan walked into the room the Pride was in and came to what amounted to parade rest. He looked over the seven Brotherhood soldiers before settling on Sarah. She tried to deliver a glare from behind her helmet but it lacked impact, partly due to her size compared to him.

'So?' Sarah said. 'You've got all that high tech equipment and superior training. I'm sure-'

'I never said we were winning.' Scott interrupted harshly. 'In that conflict, we're the ones who have inferior equipment. Our ships are outmatched by their alien counterparts, and battles are won at a high cost if they're ever won at all. On the ground, the UNSC can hold its own but the Covenant can always retreat to orbit and glass the planet if the fighting goes badly for them.' He pointed at the Helljumpers in the foyer below. 'Each of those men has to be a veteran of nearly four years before they can apply to join the ODSTs. That means four years of fighting an alien threat which is slowly whittling us down to almost nothing, witnessing thousands of their fellow soldiers being killed and living with constant defeat. They only think highly of themselves as a means to cope with that knowledge, that to get there they had to go through hell.' Scott dropped his arm as he continued to stare at Sarah. 'But if you're unhappy with their attitude, you are more than welcome to end our contract. We will leave you to deal with Talon Company by yourself and acquire the information we came for another way.'

'Like breaking into the Citadel whilst we're here?' Sarah said, striding up to the Spartan.

'If needs be, yes.' He replied once the Brotherhood commander came to a halt in front of him. 'I have specific orders in regards to the data, but they are non-specific as to _how_ I go about it. Captain McNeal would prefer it if the deal went ahead, our help in repelling Talon Company in exchange for what we need, but will understand if a more direct method has to be used.'

Sarah snorted and shook her head. 'You're no better than Talon Company then, using force to get what you want.'

'No, ma'am.' Scott disagreed. 'We only use force when it's the last option left to us. Talon Company always uses force, no matter the situation.

'But,' Sarah said, poking the Spartan in the chest. 'you've flat out said that if we end our agreement, you're going to break into the Citadel and steal the files. That is blackmail and that is forcing us.'

'_That_ doesn't make any sense.' Tara cut in, an edge to her voice. 'Why would we blackmail you _into_ maintaining the agreement? If anything, we'd try to get _out of _it and make you give us the information without having to go to all this risk.'

'Sarah, the computer lady has a point.' Hullum said, placing a hand on her shoulder. 'The UNSC is putting their men at risk to get that data when they probably don't have to. Why blackmail us to _keep_ the deal?'

She shook his hand off and kept her gaze on the Spartan. 'To prove to us that they're better?' Sarah said, cocking her head to one side. 'Or so they can fight a war that they can win?'

Behind his visor, Scott's jaw clenched at Sarah's comment, only because if she said it to any of the ODSTs they would likely retaliate in a bad way. 'Ma'am, it's only in space that the UNSC is losing. On the ground, we're most often the victors against the Covenant.' He leaned down close to Sarah. 'And a word of advice? Whilst I won't react to comments like yours, the Helljumpers may take exception and try to prove you wrong or refuse to help. They're... proud of what they are. Don't make the mistake of pissing them off.'

'Are you threatening me?' Sarah replied as Scott straightened up.

'No.' He said. 'Just warning you about antagonising any of my men.'

'I'll keep that in mind.' Sarah walked past Scott, intentionally bumping into him as she went by. The rest of the Pride, with the exception of Hullum, followed but refrained from touching the Spartan who had been unmoved by Sarah's contact.

'Sorry about that.' Hullum said once they were gone. 'Sarah's been under a lot of stress recently, even before the attack on the Citadel. Her father's deteriorating health, increased Super Mutant activity and raiders making more noise than normal.'

'You don't have to apologise for her.' Scott replied, heading out of the room with the Knight in tow.

'No, I know. But I feel like I should.' Hullum leant on the railings that lined the upper level's gantry as Scott stood next to him. 'She just feels useless, being sat on the sidelines like that. It hurt her professional pride.' The Knight sighed and gazed down at the ODSTs below, watching as they cleared the floor of bodies and guns. 'What's worse is that this isn't just a simple war between the Brotherhood of Steel and Talon Company for dominance, it became a personal matter for Sarah when her father died.'

'Do you think she'll do something rash?' Scott asked, looking at Hullum.

He shrugged. 'I don't know. Maybe. Sarah is a soldier after all, so her training will tell her to follow orders, but then she just lost her father, the one person she looked up to for guidance. And I know how powerful revenge can be as a motivator.'

Scott said nothing but silently agreed, thinking of his parents and the sacrifice they had made so he could live. It had been the only reason he'd agreed to become a part of the Spartan-III program, to get revenge against the aliens that had murdered his mother and father. 'Best guess?' he said instead.

'Highly likely she'll do something stupid.' Hullum said back. Below them, the Pride emerged onto the lower level and Scott opened a COM channel to Mitchell.

'Gunny, keep an eye on your men. Sentinel Lyons might say something to antagonise them.' The Spartan radioed. 'I've already warned her to not do it, but she may do anyway.'

'_Got it, sir.' _Mitchell responded. '_Though I'd prefer to let her say something to them. Having your ass handed to you tends to reinforce warnings.'_

'Just try to avoid confrontations until the mission is complete, Gunnery Sergeant.' Scott ordered. 'Then you can employ whatever teaching method you want.'

'_I'll try, Commander.' _The Marine cut the link and switched to SQUADCOM, repeating Scott's orders as the Spartan and Hullum continued to watch from above.

'Can I ask you a question, Commander?' Hullum wondered after several seconds of silence.

'Of course.' Scott said. 'What do you want to know?'

'Why are you so determined that this arrangement we made gets fulfilled?' he asked. 'You're putting your people at a hell of a lot of risk for some ancient files. Why not just break into the Citadel anyway and get it all over and done with?'

'Is that what you would have done in our position?' Scott asked back.

Hullum gave a half-hearted shrug. 'Yes and no. It depends on who it is and what they do.' He nodded to Sarah and the Pride as they entered the growing armoury, picking over the weapons stored there. 'The Brotherhood, I'd help out in return for something because they do good things in the wastes. Talon Company, on the other hand.' Hullum nodded at the room being filled with the corpses of the fallen. 'I would have snuck in, got what I want, maybe killed a few if I could, then snuck out.'

'You base your approach on the people, not the importance of what you need.' Scott summarised.

Hullum nodded, face growing grim. 'The Capital Wasteland is Hell on Earth, where families can turn on each other over the smallest of things and if they don't, raiders do it for them. Me going out and taking things from people trying to stop stuff like that from happening without giving something back would just make it worse.' He shrugged again. 'That's why I wouldn't break into the Citadel. So why won't you?'

'Similar reasons.' Scott said. 'Though Sentinel Lyons' attitude has become difficult recently, she is still fighting to bring peace to the area despite the hardships she faces and I respect that.'

'You're only doing this out of respect for a woman who said you were blackmailing her?' Hullum said.

'I never said I respect _her.' _The Spartan corrected. 'I respect what she's _doing_.'

'Uh huh.' Hullum shook his head in bewilderment as he stood, drawing the skeletal rifle slung across his back. 'Well, this has been a nice enough chat but I think it's time we got back to what we came here to do. This place is still crawling with Talon Company and I hate leaving jobs half finished.'

'Agreed.' Scott said as he got up from the railing and headed to the lower level.

**Spartan-B124, interior of fallout shelter Vault 108. 0348 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Rather than take ammunition from the ODSTs, Scott elected to use a weapon from the stockpile they had amassed, settling on an assault rifle which Hullum checked over and repaired to a better condition using spare parts from other rifles, before handing it and thirty magazines of ammunition to the Spartan.

Scott felt unhappy about using the old assault rifle, disliking the small calibre it fired and the size of the clip compared to his MA5C, and made a mental note to take extra ammunition on his next mission and the more precise battle rifle to ensure his duration lasted. But until then, he would continue to use the antiquated weapon as he led Alpha and Bravo Squads deeper into the Vault, with the Pride on rearguard.

'Sir, eyes on enemy troops.' Mitchell whispered over SQUADCOM as the group stopped shy of a corner. 'There are eight of them crouched behind barricades in front of a doorway. No heavy weapons in sight, just shotguns and rifles.'

Scott swapped places with the Marine, peering out from behind the corner and saw for himself what Mitchell had described. That barricade was simply a pile of sandbags arranged into a wall, spanning the corridor's width. Behind it were the eight men, all holding short range weapons and waiting patiently for something. 'Tara, is this the only way into the reactor?'

'Quite possibly, Commander.' the AI responded. 'But I'm not certain, as the Vault's construction stops me from performing a detailed scan of the place and Hullum's maps on the area ended at the cafeteria, though having seen no other corridors on the way here indicates that this is the only way in.'

'Okay.' Scott came away from the corner and back to the ODSTs. 'It looks like we've managed to push Talon Company back to their final line of defence so expect heavy fighting once we breach the door way. I'll be on point with Alpha-1, whilst Alpha-2 and -3 take the left and right sides respectively. Staff Sergeant Adams, follow with Bravo-1 and -2 after thirty seconds, leaving Bravo-3 as fire support. Expect fierce fighting with the possibility of combat robots and turrets. Understood?'

'Yes, sir.' Mitchell said. 'I got your back.'

'Just tell us when, Commander.' Adams added, checking her assault rifle over while Mitchell loaded a few shells into his shotgun.

Scott peered around the corner one last time, eyeing the distances and guessing how long it would take for him to close with the waiting mercenaries. 'Alright, on my signal.' He held up a closed fist then made a forward motion, shouldering the old assault rifle and stepping out into the corridor. Alpha-1 followed but the moment Scott set foot into the rusted hallway, all the lights went out and plunged the area into complete darkness.

'What a coincidence.' Tara muttered. 'As soon as we move towards them, the lights go out.'

'I noticed.' Scott replied, his eyes automatically adjusting to the blackness. 'All Squads, hold position. Something doesn't feel right.' The Spartan dropped to a crouch and crabbed sideways to the wall, Mitchell and Alpha-1 doing the same behind him. 'Tara, can you tell if it was a power outage or did the lights go off on purpose?'

'Wait one, Commander.' the AI said as she trawled through her data files. 'No power surge detected. Energy levels in the light fixtures were constant up until they shut down, then the levels simply stopped. And seeing as how the lights didn't go pop when they went off, I think it's fair to say Talon Company is up to something.'

'Yeah, Tara's right.' Mitchell said over SQUADCOM. 'They've put down their assault rifles and shotguns and pulled out snipers instead. Guess they're waiting for us to activate torches.'

'Good thing we've got VISR, eh?' Chang said back as he and the rest of the ODSTs activated their low light optics. 'No lights to give us away and everything is in a nice, sickly green hue.'

'So simple, even an idiot like you can use it.' Joey muttered.

'Zip it, you two.' Mitchell ordered. 'We're still in a combat zone, which means I'm the only one allowed to insult anybody. Save the name-calling for when we're back on the ship and Bravo's dancing.'

'Actually, Gunnery Sergeant,' Tara said, joining the conversation as Scott crept forward. 'Bravo Squad accomplished their objectives before you did, so it'll be _Alpha _that's dancing.'

'No fair.' Joey grumbled. 'We had a tougher job than they did.'

'_Not really.' _Adams radioed. '_You had a Spartan helping you out and we didn't. That means Bravo had a harder time.'_

'Bullshit.' Mitchell said, moving towards Scott. 'We took on at least forty of them in a room that looked like a shooting gallery.'

'_Excuses, excuses._' The Staff Sergeant said to the Gunnery Sergeant. '_Either way, you're boys are gonna put the show on for my girls. I'm putting in a request for a can-can and I've heard talk of one or two wanting a strip tease.'_

'They can want.' Mitchell growled. 'I'm deciding on the dance, and you'll all have to wait for it to see it.' He and Scott stopped halfway down the corridor, watching the mercenaries as they waited behind their sandbag wall, before returning to the main bulk of the ODSTs.

'All eight are clustered close to each other, six in front and two at the back, which means a single grenade will take care of them.' the Spartan relayed to everyone. 'I'll get as close as possible to drop the frag behind the sandbags then signal for you to come up.'

'What's the signal?' Joey asked.

'The sound of an M9 HE-DP going off.' Scott said simply, producing one of the small green eggs and tossed it up and down a few times. 'Think you can remember that?'

'Yes, sir.' The Marine nodded.

Scott started to head back to the entrance at the end of the corridor but stopped when Adams came on the radio.

'_Sir, those Brotherhood people are moving to your position.' _She said. '_And I don't think they want to talk.'_

'What?' The Spartan span around to see Sarah and the Pride, sans Hullum, were quickly approaching him, their helmet lamps on and cutting through the darkness. 'Sentinel Lyons, what are you doing?'

'Fighting _my _war.' The Brotherhood commander replied briskly, leading her troops into the corridor. 'For the Brotherhood and Elder Lyons!' All six pushed past the ODSTs, weapons drawn, and yelled a collective battle cry as they attempted to rush the mercenaries.

'You know that bad feeling I had...' Joey said lamely once Talon Company began firing on the Pride, the muzzle flash of their sniper rifles illuminating the hall like strobe lighting, making any movement seem jerky.

'Alpha-1, move to engage!' Scott ordered, ignoring Joey's comment. 'Alpha-2 and -3, follow at thirty second intervals.' He brought his assault rifle up and ran for the eight men, firing three-round bursts.

In front of Scott, two Brotherhood soldiers went down, their heads whipped back by the impact of a sniper's bullet. One was already down but moving sluggishly. 'Sentinel, fall back at once.' He shouted above the din of gunfire. Alpha-1 had joined the fray, adding the reports of three assault rifles and boom of one shotgun to the mix.

'No!' Sarah shouted back, her laser rifle sending red bolts at one mercenary. They connected and the woman's flesh sizzled and burnt. 'We're not going to sit around and let you take all the glory. This is our war, and we're going to be the ones who finish it!'

Scott felt a round slam into his shoulder, making the MJOLNIR armour's shields flare, which attracted more sniper fire and made them droop to two-thirds. 'But three of your men are down, and you haven't even breached their outer defences!'

The lights came back on, bathing the area in dirty yellow light and knocking the Brotherhood troops off balance as they squinted against the sudden brightness. Scott simply sent a triple-tap downrange, striking a mercenary in the throat. Blood bubbled from the wound as the man started to choke and clutch at the wound. Another burst blew apart the back of his head and the mercenary went down.

'Fall back and wait for my orders.' Scott snapped, grabbing Sarah by the shoulder and tried to tug her away from the snipers. Alpha-1 began doing the same with the remaining members of the Pride that were still upright before providing cover fire for Alpha-2 to drag the downed members away.

'I'm not leaving this half-finished!' Sarah yelled, fighting the Spartan. 'Let go of me, you bastard.'

'If I do, you'll die.' Scott stated matter-of-factly, maintaining an iron grip on Sarah's shoulder. 'Then this fight will never be finished.' He held up his assault rifle one-handed, firing the remaining magazine into the four remaining mercenaries manning the barricade until the weapon's bolt cycled open.

'Then I die fighting for my father.' Sarah yanked her shoulder from the Spartan's grasp as Scott dropped the empty weapon and brought out the pistol on his thigh. She dropped to the floor and came back up on one knee, firing her laser rifle before rolling forwards away from Scott.

'Alpha-1, suppressive fire.' Scott barked, going for the discarded assault rifle while Mitchell and Chang sent a hail of lead downrange, the combined firepower of an assault rifle and shotgun serving to keep Talon Company turtle behind their sandbags in a futile effort to protect themselves from the armour-piercing rounds of Chang's MA5C and Mitchell's 8-gauge shells.

One or two rounds nicked Scott's shields, making them shimmer, but he ignored them and performed a similar roll to Sarah, scooping up and reloading the wooden assault rifle he'd thrown down in one fluid movement. When he stopped, the Spartan assumed a kneeling stance next to the Brotherhood commander and gripped her arm in another grip, this one vice-like as he locked the his glove's articulation, and dragged Sarah back to the ODSTs and the rest of her men.

'What are you doing?' Sarah yelled, Scott's actions throwing off her aim and sent a laser beam to impact on the concrete wall of the Vault's interior. The surface cracked from the heat. 'Let go of me!'

'I can't do that, Sentinel.' With that, Scott head butted Sarah and knocked her unconscious. He proceeded to drag her back behind the corner and to Hullum, who took control of Sarah and took off her helmet to check for any injuries. Scott's head butt had smashed the lamp and buckled the riveted surface but done no serious damage to Sarah.

'You couldn't have asked her nicely?' the Knight commented dryly, running a thumb over the dent Scott had put into the helmet.

'She wouldn't have come back any other way.' He said back.

'To be fair, the Commander did tell Sentinel Lyons she'd die if she stayed.' Tara added.

'I know.' Hullum dropped the damaged headgear and went to check on the other wounded member of the Pride, Paladin Glade. Gallows and Knight Captain Colvin were lying dead, a single sniper round having punctured both their helmets and torn apart their faces. The remaining members of the Pride were sat a few feet away from their bodies, silently looking at them.

'Will he make it?' Scott asked, glancing over his shoulder at Glade as he began firing at Talon Company from behind the corner.

'Maybe.' Hullum and Leo were both crouched over Glade, the latter gently removing his helmet. A single round had managed to break through the toughened faceplate, though it was to the far right and judging by the Paladin's wounds, the bullet had gouged a deep cut in the side of his skull. Leo pulled out a canister of biofoam and some bandages, getting Hullum to clean the wound a bit.

'Wound's not too deep.' Leo said, taking a closer inspection after some of the blood was gone. 'Bullet scraped a path from the corner of his eye all the way to the back on his head where it lodged itself half-in, half-out. One or two places where the brain's showing through but no visible damage to it. Pupil response sluggish and breathing is slightly laboured, as is response to external stimuli.' He lightly touched one edge of Glade's wound which prompted a slight whimper of pain from the man. 'Pain has a quicker response though patient is still slow. Can't say for sure, but nature of wound and patient's reactions imply severe TBI.'

'Can you do anything?' Scott fired a three-round burst, moving forward in a crouch to join Mitchell and Alpha-1 as they engaged more of Talon Company's mercenaries, reinforcements arriving almost as quickly as they were cut down.

'_No_.' Leo said over SQUADCOM. '_I can make him stable but this is something for the doctors on the _Heavy_.'_

'Acknowledged, Medic.' The Spartan switched to Bravo Squad's frequency. 'Staff Sergeant Adams, I want Bravo-3 to evac the wounded and stay with them until a Pelican can pick them up. Understood?'

'_Yes, sir_.' Adams replied before giving out her own orders. Scott left her to it as he rejoined Mitchell in holding back the mercenaries. They were all wielding assault rifles and shotguns again, brass cartridges carpeting the floor that was starting to become slick with blood.

'How many have you taken down, Gunny?' The Spartan inquired, killing three men who were firing at him.

'Don't know, I lost count at fifteen.' Mitchell said, loading more shells into his shotgun as Scott slid a new magazine home. 'All I can tell you is that there is no end to them and that I'm beginning to run low on ammo for Crunchbite.'

'Crunchbite?' Tara said over the COM. 'Is that what you've called your weapon?'

'Yeah. See, it goes _crunch_ when I pump the slide and takes a _bite _out of whatever poor sod is standing in front of it. Crunch and Bite, makes Crunchbite.' The Marine explained, demonstrating exactly what he'd just said by blowing one man's shoulder and a good portion of his chest away. 'Kinda like that.'

'Ah, it makes sense now.' The AI said as a second, then a third mercenary suffered similar fates at the hands of Mitchell and Crunchbite. 'Apt name.'

'Too bad we don't _all_ have them.' Chang muttered, firing a string of bursts. 'Only _someone _took-' He was cut off mid-sentence as a sniper round struck his midsection and tore through the protective ballistic protection there. '-them all.' Chang looked down at the wound as it began to drip blood before dropping his weapon and collapsed to the floor.

'Shit, Chang.' Mitchell yelled over the COM, sprinting to the wounded Helljumper. 'Leo, get your ass over here. Man down.' Mitchell skidded to a halt next to the downed Marine and flipped him onto his back, using both hands to apply pressure to the wound in an attempt to slow the flow of blood.

'Alpha Squad, suppressive fire! Keep Talon Company pinned.' Scott ordered, positioning himself so he was between Chang and the mercenaries, using his bulk to shield the ODST from further harm. He pulled out, primed and tossed a frag grenade as the rate of fire from Alpha picked up, the small explosive landing behind the sandbags. It detonated, shredding the men stood there and demolishing the barricade as Leo joined Mitchell in fixing the wound.

'Chang, can you hear me?' Mitchell growled, tapping Chang on the head.

'Yeah, I... I hear ya, Gunny.' Chang replied weakly, grunting as Leo applied Biofoam to the injury. 'How bad is it?'

'Just a flesh wound, Trooper.' Leo told him. 'Nothing a big boy like you can't handle.'

This made Chang laugh and cough. 'That bad, huh?'

Leo nodded as he pulled out a dressing. 'Judging from the entry wound, the bullet's gone into your stomach and possibly further. We'll know more when we get you to a proper doc.'

'Can't you just yank it out?' Mitchell asked, helping Leo to drag Chang to safety. Scott watched them go on his motion tracker, moving backwards with them.

'No. I'm a medic, not a doctor. I just make people more comfortable while they die.'

'That's real comforting to hear, Doc.' Chang muttered, clutching his wound.

'You're in the wrong branch for comforting.' Mitchell said. 'Maybe the Navy would be more for you.'

'Hey, I'm Navy!' Leo objected, squirting a bit more biofoam into the small entry wound.

'So is the Commander.' Tara said.

'I meant the ones who stay on the ships, not you two.' The Gunnery Sergeant shot back, passing Scott Chang's ammunition which he gladly accepted. 'You guys are okay.'

'Aw, thanks Gunny.' Leo said as he closed up the wound in temporary binding. 'Alright, you're good to go.'

'Get him to Bravo-3 and the other wounded.' Scott said to Mitchell and Leo. 'I'll stay with the rest of the squads and what's left of the Pride. Radio when you dust off.'

'Got it, sir.' Mitchell picked up Crunchbite and waited for Leo to help Chang to his feet before leading them out of the reactor level and towards the entrance.

Once they were gone, Scott headed back into the fight, leading Alpha, Bravo and the Pride, minus Sarah, Hullum, and the two dead members, through the last mercenaries Talon Company could throw at them until they overran the very last line of defence Talon Company had and took total control of the Vault.

**Spartan-B124, near outskirts of Washington, DC. 1013 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott slung his assault rifle across his back, the MA5C rather than the antique he'd been using for the past six hours. Talon Company had put up a decent fight, but the moment Scott and the ODSTs had broken through the initial barricade where two of the Pride had been killed was the tipping point.

From there, they had pushed all the way to the end in a barrage of bullets, flaring shields and blood, mostly on Talon Company's side but some had come from another ODST, a member of Bravo Squad who took a round to the shoulder. The Marine had simply sworn, gunned down the mercenary who had fired the bullet, then dug it out of his shoulder with a combat knife.

Sarah hadn't said anything once she came around, refusing to speak to Scott or Hullum, and simply waited with the bodies of Gallows and Colvin until the fighting was all over. After that, Sarah had helped carry them out and prop them up against a rock as she and the rest of the group took a break in the sun.

'I have the _Heavy Hitter _on the line, Commander.' Tara announced as Scott slipped his helmet back on after scratching a persistent itch. 'Patching you through.'

'_Heavy Hitter, _this is SPARTAN-B124. Do you copy?' he radioed, sitting down on an oddly shaped rock. Around him, the Helljumpers were in similar positions with the ODST who had been wounded giving his injury a second look.

'_SPARTAN-B124, this is the _Heavy Hitter. _We copy you.' _Lieutenant Murphy responded. '_How are things planetside?'_

'Good, Lieutenant. One further casualty but no fatalities. Mission successful.' Scott said, uploading his logs to the orbiting frigate. 'How are Chang and Glade?'

'_Recovering, Commander. Chang had his bullet removed an hour after coming aboard and Glade just got out of surgery.' _Murphy paused before speaking again. '_And there have been some... recent developments regarding our predicament. I'll pass you over to the Captain so he can explain it.'_

There was a brief hiss of static and then a click as Murphy transferred the mike to McNeal, the senior naval officer taking control of the channel. '_Commander, I'm scrubbing the mission to retrieve the data files. They are no longer of any importance to us. Understood?'_

'Aye, sir.' The Spartan confirmed, not really understanding but knew that his mission had been dropped, which was all he needed to know. 'New orders?'

'_Return to the Pentagon and wait for pickup. We'll see how things go from there.' _McNeal ended the transmission after signing off, leaving Scott to gather up his things and give the word for the ODSTs to do the same with the Brotherhood soldier's following suit as they began walking back to the Pentagon.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Fourteen

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 1623 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Clouds had begun to form that threatened rain as Scott led the joint UNSC-BoS force back into the Pentagon. The walk back from Vault 108 had been uneventful but a tense atmosphere had accompanied it, though the tension wasn't between the ODSTs and the Pride, it was between Hullum and Sarah.

The two had carried Gallows for the entirety of the trip, barely talking to each other and every rest stop the group made, they steered clear of one another. Hullum sat close to Scott and Alpha Squad, smoking several cigarettes that he pulled from some compartment on his armour while Sarah sat down on whatever she could find, her back to everyone. What was left of the Pride clustered next to the bodies of their fallen, themselves hardly speaking.

It wasn't until they finally reached the inner courtyard of the Pentagon did the tension between Hullum and Sarah reach breaking point.

'What the fuck, Sarah?' Hullum snapped after they had placed the body of Gallows on a wooden crate and the Brotherhood commander began walking away. 'What the fuck happened back there?'

Scott and the ODSTs spread out around the courtyard, leaning or sitting on the rubble strewn around it.

'Fifty credits says they get into a fistfight.' One Helljumper challenged over SQUADCOM as Sarah stopped but didn't turn around.

'Screw that.' Another said. 'Fifty creds says she throws the first punch.' This launched a mass discussion on who would do what to the other and Scott filtered it out, focusing on the developing situation between Hullum and Sarah. Whilst the UNSC's deal with them was no longer needed, something the Spartan wanted to know the reasoning behind, he still felt that they were allies and was concerned about what this fight might do to their command structure.

'What happened, Hullum, is that I did my duty as a Brotherhood of Steel soldier.' She said evenly, though Scott and several ODSTs saw her hands clench into fists, suggesting that her emotional state was far from calm.

'No. You disobeyed direct orders.' Hullum replied harshly, his own fists forming. 'B124 gave the order for the Pride to stay back and leave the fighting to his men, meaning we were out of harm's way, but you didn't listen. You ignored him, lead the Pride into battle, got two of them killed and wounded a third. Christ, Sarah. They were mercenaries!' He pointed at the bodies, despite the fact Sarah still had her back to him, and then at some location to the northwest. 'The Enclave, the only group in the wastes that had technology like ours, if not better, couldn't even manage to hurt one member of the Pride.' Hullum stepped closer to Sarah.

'We go on the one mission where you disobey direct orders from a person _you _put in charge, we lose two in seconds to thugs.' He continued, pointing an accusing finger at the Brotherhood commander's back. 'I want to know why the fuck you did it.'

'I told you, I did my duty as a Brotherhood of Steel soldier.' Sarah repeated though her voice was more strained, as if she was trying not to shout at Hullum.

'Bullshit.' The Knight spat. 'You only did it because Talon Company killed your father and you wanted revenge.' He moved his finger so it was pointing at the UNSC troops. 'Those guys putting us at the back just pushed you over the edge, didn't it? Because if you'd had been leading that attack from the start, if you'd had a level head, you would have seen through Talon Company's trap and the Pride wouldn't be in the state it is!' He threw his arms up in frustration before letting them drop back to his sides again, all the while glaring at Sarah from behind his helmet.

She didn't have hers on, the dent Scott had made with his head making the protective headpiece too uncomfortable to wear, but she may as well have done. Her face was a mask, showing no emotion except for a slight narrowing of her eyes. Slowly, and with deliberate precision, Sarah turned to face Hullum. 'How I lead my men in battle is not up to you, _Knight _Hullum, and it is not your job to second guess my reasoning.'

'It is when your only objective is to get revenge, _Sentinel._' Hullum said back. 'How many of the Brotherhood would have died before you finally got what you wanted? Huh?' He stepped closer. 'Half of them? All of them? How many lives would you have wasted because all you could see was red?' He topped it off by placing an accusing finger on Sarah's chest, as if daring her to do something.

She did.

With a roar, Sarah grabbed Hullum's arm with her left and pulled it towards her whilst Sarah's right hand came up in a fist, aimed straight for Hullum's face. They connected, and the Knight's head snapped backwards from the blow, giving Sarah an opportunity to throw him over her shoulder, just like she had done to Scott a few days ago. But unlike then, Hullum didn't grab the handle set onto the chest of Sarah's power armour, still dazed from the punch. He barely managed to get his arms into a defensive position as Sarah straddled him and began raining blows down on him, screaming all the while.

'Okay, who had she'd go postal on his ass?' an ODST said over the radio, the other Helljumpers not doing anything to break up the fight.

'Uh, me and Cooper.' Joey said, leaning against one of the rusty metal pillars that made up what little overhead cover there was inside the Pentagon's courtyard. 'Who was it that betted she'd be screaming as she beat him?'

'Me.' a third ODST said.

Tara made an irritated noise in Scott's ear as he went to stop Sarah. 'I can't believe they made bets on who would do what.' the AI said. 'How unprofessional.'

'I personally thought Sentinel Lyons would go for a choke hold to start with.' Scott replied as he grabbed hold of Sarah's arm just as she was about to punch Hullum yet again and used his augmented strength to throw her off the downed Knight with hardly any effort. 'Though a sucker punch did cross my mind.'

'You're joking, right?' Tara said in disbelief as Sarah scrambled upright and stared down the Spartan.

'No.' Scott spread his feet into a more stable position as Sarah dropped to a combat stance. 'Stand down, Sentinel.' He ordered calmly, making sure he was between her and Hullum who was just getting up off the floor, two ODSTs helping him. The armour on his arms was dented and his helmet's filter had been ruined by Sarah's initial strike.

'This is between me and him, Spartan.' Sarah said, pointing past him to Hullum as he removed his helmet to reveal a bloodied nose. 'Move out of my way.'

'No.' Scott said again, ready to meet Sarah if she charged at him. 'Stand down, Sentinel.

'I'm warning you.' She said, taking a step closer to the Spartan. 'Stand aside or things are going to get ugly.'

'No.' Scott said a third time. 'Consider this your final warning: stand down, or I will be forced to make you stand down.' He clenched his hands into fists as Sarah did the same. To his right, the Helljumpers began making more bets on the outcome of the fight.

'Fifty creds says he lays her out in one punch.' Joey said.

'Really?' Tara muttered. 'More betting?'

Scott ignored her and the ODSTs, waiting to see what Sarah would do.

'Fine.' She snarled. 'You asked for it.'

The Brotherhood commander sprang into action, leaping for Scott who stayed where he was. To him, time slowed to a crawl as his mind entered what Lieutenant Ambrose had called SPARTAN time, a state where enhanced senses and augmented bodies combined to enable Spartans to think and react at speeds almost impossible to chart. Combined with the MJOLNIR armour's reactive circuits which operated on the user's thought rather than movement, this meant a Spartan could be moving to intercept a target before the target itself had moved less than an inch or even started to move.

Today was no exception. Scott waited until Sarah had closed the distance before doing anything. He drew his arm back then released it, landing a solid punch in Sarah's solar plexus that buckled the riveted metal of her armour and forced all the air from her lungs. He watched as Sarah's face changed from a murderous snarl to utter disbelief and pain in slow motion then withdrew his fist. For a moment, Sarah remained upright but gravity took over and she fell to the floor, wheezing and gasping for air.

Time seemed to restart as Scott stood over her, hands clasped behind his back, as if daring Sarah to get up and try again.

'Ho-lee shite.' Hullum whispered, using a bandage an ODST had given him to wipe his nose clean. The rest of the courtyard was similarly silent, in awe at how quickly Scott had moved. To him, the entire fight had seemed to last minutes but in reality it had probably only been two seconds, start to finish.

The only one not in awe was Sarah who struggled upright, coughing as she held her hands over the dent in her chest.

'Stand down, Sentinel.' Scott said, breaking the silence.

Sarah spat out a glob of spit and blood at his feet, managing to stand straight. 'No.' She wheezed and made another attempt to get past the Spartan.

Scott simply grabbed her in an arm lock, held Sarah up in the air then slammed her face first onto the ground, taking pains to not use too much force in case he made her head smash into the concrete floor, then dropped his knee onto her back and used his weight to rupture the two tanks located there. Metal cracked and splintered, allowing hydraulic fluid to seep out and confirming the speculations of the engineers aboard the _Heavy Hitter_. The suit did have a hydraulic system in place to improve the wearer's strength but apparently crippling the system didn't stop them from moving as Sarah continued to struggle.

The Spartan got up and waited for Sarah to do the same, her armour now looking worse for wear. Oil ran down the back and pooled by her feet, the chest sported a deep, fist-shaped dent and scratches adorned nearly every square centimetre. When she finally lurched to her feet, Sarah's movements were sluggish, clumsy and lacked impact as Scott found out.

He let Sarah land several blows until her resolve to fight finally winked out and she collapsed at his feet, sobbing, at which point Hullum and the remainder of the Pride took over and escorted her downstairs, leaving the ODSTs and Scott alone in the courtyard.

'Wrap it up, Helljumpers.' He ordered. 'Prep for extraction.'

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**in orbit around Earth. 1647 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

McNeal sat across from Clarke in the ship's Mess Hall, each man cradling a cup of lukewarm coffee but only the engineer was drinking his. McNeal just kept sloshing the black liquid around as he and Clarke had a more prolonged discussion about the report Clarke and his small team had compiled.

'Explain it to me again, Chief.' McNeal said, finally taking a sip of his drink. 'What made you think we were in an alternate world?'

'It was just small things, sir.' Clarke said. He still looked tired, having barely gotten six hours sleep before McNeal had wanted to speak with him, and was once more downing coffee by the gallon to compensate. 'Like some of the creatures the Lieutenant Commander encountered down there. One of them, ghouls or something, were what set us off, really.'

'How so?' the Captain said, placing his data pad on the mess table's surface and brought up one of the images of a ghoul. It looked like some kind of zombie, the flesh having long since rotted away to leave the muscles and bone underneath on show. He flipped the device around to show Clarke who nodded.

'That's the one.' He confirmed, draining his cup before poring himself a slightly fresher one from a nearby urn. 'When we came across it in the Spartan's logs, one of the medical people on the team flat out stated that how those things were created wasn't physically possible.'

'How are they created?'

'Radiation.' Clarke said. 'According to this Knight Hullum guy, ghouls are created when someone gets exposed to radiation in quantities that would normally kill a person. They have some sort of genetic characteristic that stops them dying and turns them into a zombie.'

'I'm guessing that doesn't happen in real life.' McNeal said.

'Hell, no.' Clarke said rather loudly then looked around sheepishly, mouthing apologies to the other men and women in the room. 'Sorry, but that's what every medically trained person on this ship said to me when I asked that very same question.' He took control of McNeal's data pad and tapped in several commands, brining up files about radiation and a few linked articles. 'Basically, they said that the amount of radiation released in a nuclear war would do one of two things to people if it affected them at all.

'The first thing is kill them outright. No two ways about it. Radiation poisoning is one of the worst ways to go, depending on the dose and how much care you get. Nuclear war would release far more than what is needed to kill a person and it would last for decades.' Clarke span the tablet back to McNeal. 'Secondly, if it doesn't kill you outright, radiation can cause things like cancer and tumours which, if left untreated, will kill you instead. But those ghouls, those people who suffered lethal doses of radiation, didn't die. They were turned into walking corpses.'

'So, this is what made you believe we were in an alternate reality? These exceptions to what is established medical knowledge?' McNeal looked at Clarke, unconvinced.

'It's not just that, sir.' The engineer said, groaning inwardly. 'Topography of Washington, architecture of the buildings, the level of technology. Everything is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The ship was here less than six months ago. _I _was here less than six months ago, sampling some of the seedier sights DC itself had to offer, and at no point did it look like it does now. Everything was shiny, just like you'd expect of an Inner Colony.' He sighed and rested his head on the table.

'So how did we travel to this parallel world?' McNeal asked, prompting Clarke to lift his head off the cold, metal surface.

'I don't know.' He mumbled, dropping his head back down. 'We never really came up with a good enough explanation so we gave up. Best guess? We're really, really, REALLY unlucky.'

McNeal arched an eyebrow as he took control of his data pad and closed the articles on radiation. He knew was it would do to a person, having been part of the rescue fleet dispatched to Mamore to help deal with the terrorist attack on the Haven arcology back in 2511, when Captain McNeal had been a fresh faced Ensign. The attack had been committed using a commercial nuclear explosive but the effects had been devastating.

Two million dead with a further eight million injured, either from blast and shrapnel damage or from radiation poisoning. McNeal had never actually set foot on the planet, but looking over the news feeds and the images transmitted by the medical personnel had almost been enough to make him throw up.

McNeal grimaced as the memories came back up before quickly banishing them and turned back to Clarke and was about to speak with him more but the engineer let out a snore and the senior naval officer let him be.

'Sasha?' McNeal called out instead, laying his data pad flat on the table. Its screen flickered and resolved to show the _Heavy_'s AI.

'Yes, Captain?' Sasha said.

'Pull up the records of all the ships that vanished during Slipspace transitions.' He said. 'I want details on everything. The crew, make and model of both ship and slipspace drive, and any unusual cargo they may have been carrying. Everything.'

'Aye, Captain.' Sasha vanished, only to reappear a moment later. 'Search complete, sir. Shall I show it to you or do you wish to look through it yourself?'

'I'll look through it myself.' McNeal stowed his data pad then tapped Clarke on the shoulder, waking him up. 'Come on, Chief. The Mess Hall is no place to sleep.'

Clarke groaned as McNeal continued to shake him. 'Alright, alright. I'm moving.' He pulled himself up and stretched before shuffling out of the cafeteria and to his bunk. McNeal, meanwhile, headed for his own quarters.

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**in orbit around Earth. 1703 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'Using your search parameters of crew, cargo and make of the vessel, I've managed to narrow the list down to twenty-one ships, sir.' Sasha said once McNeal had sat down behind his desk, her avatar hovering over the holotank.

'Show me.' McNeal said, turning to the wall mounted screen. Instantly it snapped on and displayed profiles on each ship Sasha had found. It was a mixture in terms of tonnage and age so he couldn't draw a conclusion from that but there was one or two UNSC warships there. 'Alright, which of these ships as anything unusual in there file?'

'All of them, sir.' The AI said. 'That's why they're here.'

McNeal rolled his eyes. 'Okay then, did any of the crew have suspected links to the Insurrection?'

'Three, Captain.' Onscreen, three ships were highlighted. 'The UNSC Department of Commercial Shipping theorised that these ships were overran by Insurrectionist forces and retrofitted to serve as warships in the rebellion, an idea that was partially confirmed when UNSC forces encountered one of the three ships during fleet engagements over Eridnus II during Operation: TREBUCHET.'

'What about the other two? Anything off about them aside from the crew?' McNeal asked.

'No, Captain.'

'Then drop all three from our list. No point looking at them.' He leant back in his chair, watching as the number of lost ships dropped from twenty-one to eighteen. 'Tell me about the cargo each ship was carrying when they disappeared. Anything odd about any of them?'

'Define 'odd', sir.'

'Out of the ordinary, one of a kind. Experimental, even.' McNeal sat up, resting both elbows on his desk. 'Basically, any kind of cargo that a normal freighter would never be carrying except under extraordinary circumstances.' He paused, thinking. 'Try looking for ships that had heavily classified manifests, or looks like ONI was involved.'

'Filtering now, Captain.' The number of ships fell from eighteen to five, three freighters and the two UNSC warships, a destroyer and a corvette. 'These are the only ships that match your criteria. All had heavily redacted and classified files, and subsequent investigations into their disappearances had ONI involvement.'

'Can you access their logs?' McNeal asked, trying to figure out a connection between them and his frigate. Two of the freighters had been lost in 2497, roughly six months apart, after departing from a location called XF-063 which meant nothing to McNeal and his attempts to search for the place in the UNSC database merely produced an article on a rock called onyx. He terminated his search and looked at the other three ships.

The third freighter had vanished after visiting a planet that was littered with supposedly alien ruins. McNeal briefly glanced at some of the files related to the ruins but shut them down after a few seconds.

The warships, however, were more of a mystery. Neither of them had ever been attached to scientific expeditions, even to provide security, and looking over their service history showed nothing unusual. The destroyer had once been part of Admiral Cole's fleet to retake Harvest when it went missing, a routine Slipspace jump back to Reach for repairs, whilst the corvette vanished six years later, itself heading back to Reach for repairs.

When Sasha finally uncovered the manifest reports, McNeal saw all five ships had been carrying what the UNSC called 'artefacts' recovered from areas of interest which probably meant it was something the Covenant had once had, or tried to get, and because of their interest, ONI had gotten curious as well.

'Do you have anything more detailed on what these artefacts are?' McNeal said.

'No, Captain.' Sasha said. 'UNSC records simply say that they are objects of interest to be shipped to HIGHCOM on Reach. No further information exists.'

'Sometimes I hate spooks.' McNeal muttered. 'Can't give you a straight answer and if they do, it's never the full picture.' He sighed and rubbed his face before looking back at the cargo manifests of the ships, thinking hard. 'Sasha, bring up the inventory of the _Heavy. _I want to know if there's anything that isn't there normally.

'Working.' Sasha's avatar scrunched its face up in concentration as the AI scanned through her records. 'Item found. It's labelled as an object of interest, to be delivered to HIGHCOM on Earth.'

'Really?' McNeal said. 'Where did that come from?'

'It was found in a Covenant stronghold located on the colony of Leon, sir.' Sasha said. 'Grey Team led an assault on it and after clearing out the Covenant, came across the artefact and retrieved it.'

'Grey Team?' McNeal arched an eyebrow at Sasha.

'A fireteam composed of SPARTANS-A025, -B101 and -B124 attached to the battlegroup sent to fend of invading Covenant forces until civilians could be evacuated.' She explained. 'They performed numerous operations over the course of the battle, losing one member and another was sent to the UNSC _Hopeful _for treatment. Lieutenant Commander SPARTAN-B124 was the only one to survive without sustaining major injury.'

'Then he knows what we're dealing with.' McNeal said. 'Well, more than any of us do. Where is the Commander, anyway?'

'SPARTAN-B124 is currently holding position inside the Pentagon alongside the remaining members of Alpha and Bravo Squads.' Sasha said. 'He is awaiting further instructions.'

'Tell him to stay there.' McNeal ordered, rising from his chair. 'Is the ship rated for atmosphere?'

'Yes, Captain. Though given the reduced thrust capability, it would take longer to break orbit if we make landfall.'

'Very well.' McNeal walked out of his quarters but not before giving one last command. 'Plot a course for Washington, DC. Time to pay the Brotherhood a proper visit.'


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Fifteen

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**in descent to Earth. 1724 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'Okay, course plotted in.' Franks announced from navigation. 'Should let us avoid most of the debris up here.'

'Lieutenant Tyler? How is the ship holding up?'' McNeal asked, strapping himself into the command chair.

'Superstructure is green, sir.' She said after scanning her screen. 'Hull patches are holding, main reactor is currently operating within acceptable parameters and portside engine is ready. She's good to go.'

'Guns?'

'Powering up all Point-defence guns and slaving control to Sasha.' Donovan said. 'If anything comes for us, it'll have a 50mm surprise.'

'Very well. Takes us in, Franks. And be careful.' McNeal ordered, cinching his restraints tight. 'Lieutenant Murphy, alert ground forces we're coming in.'

'Aye, sir.' Murphy said as he powered up his station and established contact with the Spartan.

'Engines coming online, reactor at sixty percent power.' Tyler announced. 'Thrust at forty percent.'

The _Heavy Hitter _rumbled as her remaining engines activated and pushed the 4000 ton ship from her current orbital path onto one that would take her closer to the planet below. Around her, the debris of antiquated satellites drifted in orbits of their own, some flickering with dregs of power whilst others were dead or dying.

'Entering outer debris field.' Franks said. 'Picking up over eighty separate radar objects.'

'Anything worth worrying about?' McNeal wondered.

'No, sir.' The Lieutenant said after a moment to check his data. 'Wait. Picking up radiation flares. Some of the satellites are carrying nuclear payloads!'

'How many?' McNeal said.

'Uh, five, sir.' Franks tapped in a command and the forward view screen shifted to show the radar. In the centre was the _Heavy_, and surrounding it were dozens upon dozens of smaller shapes, five of which had been tagged with radiation symbols. 'Hang on, picking up faint radar emissions as well. Sir! They have a lock on us!'

McNeal clicked the intercom on. 'All hands, this is the Captain. Battle stations!' The lights on the bridge darkened to the familiar red hue that signified imminent danger and engagements with the enemy.

'Lieutenant Donovan, make sure the Point-defence guns are fully operational and ready for anything. Lieutenant Tyler, bring the reactor up to eighty percent power.' The Captain ordered, making doubly sure his restraints were tightened as the bulkhead leading onto the bridge slammed shut. 'Lieutenant Franks, update on targets.'

'All five satellites have opened silo doors and are rotating to face us, sir.'

'Range?'

'Ten kilometres at minimum, eighteen at maximum, but our current orbit will takes us closer to them.' Franks said.

'Reactors responding!' Tyler said a second later. 'Now at eighty percent power. Thrust up to fifty percent.'

'Maintain this heading.' McNeal said, eyes locked onto the forward viewscreen as the five satellites inched closer to the frigate as it sped towards Earth.

'Contact! Contact!' Franks yelled. 'Enemy targets have launched missiles at us! Counting ten- no, twelve- Now counting fifteen missiles on an intercept course. Sir, evasive manoeuvres?'

Onscreen, fifteen dots erupted from the satellites, two of which seemed to vanish, presumably from the missiles contained within them malfunctioning or detonating prematurely. This still left fifteen missiles heading straight for the _Heavy, _surrounding it on all sides.

'Too late for that.' McNeal said as the missiles rapidly closed the gap. 'Tyler, got to one hundred fifty on the reactors. Push them as hard as you can. Sasha, activate the PDGs. Lieutenant Franks, course correction: take us through the densest part of the debris field you can find.'

'Aye, sir!' all three said at once.

'Going to one hundred fifty.' Tyler said. 'Reactors now exceeding standard operating parameters! Estimate coolant breakdown in no less than three minutes.'

'Point-defence guns online, Captain.' Sasha announced, about the only person on the bridge who appeared calm. 'Bringing them to bear on the missiles.'

'New course plotted in!' Franks yelled. 'Bearing two-four-eight, declination oh-oh-five.' He checked his screen. 'Missile impact in thirteen seconds and counting.'

All the bridge crew fell silent, waiting for the first missile to hit them. Ahead of the ship, a particularly dense field of old and broken satellites drew closer.

'Coming up on the initial debris field. Preparing to avoid-' Franks began to say but McNeal cut him off.

'Belay that.' He ordered. 'Continue on current course at emergency speed. Guns, prepare to fire chaff the moment before we go through.'

Franks opened his mouth to object but shut it again, nodding slowly as he saw what McNeal had in mind. 'Aye, sir. Continuing on current course. Time to initial missile strike is eight seconds. Coming up on debris in five seconds, four, three, two...'

'Chaff deploying!' Donovan yelled just as the leading edges of the frigate ploughed through the accumulated space junk, the Titanium-A battle plate easily shrugging off the impacts of centuries old satellites. Even so, the crew on the bridge and elsewhere could feel the small impacts as the _Heavy _flew through it all.

'Aft camera!' McNeal ordered.

Instantly the forward viewscreen shifted from a radar image to a feed from one of several cameras located on the frigate's stern, showing several pods containing chaff explode to shower the area with radar obscuring aluminium strips and a gaping hole that had been formed when the _Heavy _broke through the aging junk. Behind all this, the crew could see the incoming rockets as they chased the fleeing ship but the sudden appearance of chaff and a larger radar target confused them and over half flew into other obstacles, detonating, whilst two actually hit each other.

The subsequent explosions threw out a shockwave which sent the scrap metal that hadn't been vaporised by the nuclear detonations flying in all directions and took out all but two of the incoming missiles that had been trailing the main group. Those that survived flew straight through the rapidly cooling cloud of dust and radiation, still pursuing the frigate.

'Sasha, where the hell are those Point-defence guns?' McNeal said as the two missiles closed the distance.

'Impact in nine seconds.' Franks announced.

'Coolant failure in thirty!' Tyler said as an alarm started to wail. 'Reactors approached red line!'

'Shut them down.' McNeal ordered. 'Then cycle the primary coolant with the reserve.'

'Point-defence guns engaging targets, Captain.' Sasha said coolly as the four 50mm cannons spread across the outer hull of the ship began firing, destroying the last missiles. 'Sorry they took so long but it looks like their targeting radar was damaged by our encounter with the UFO. I'm surprised it didn't come up during the initial damage assessment.'

'We were more focused on the main engines than the targeting radars for the guns, Sasha.' Tyler replied as she gave the commands to power down the main reactor and begin emergency cooling procedures.

'We'll deal with it when we're planetside, Lieutenant.' McNeal said. 'In the meantime, power the reactors back up, slowly, and see if you can give me fifty percent.'

'Aye, Captain.'

'Lieutenant Franks, how long before we hit the outer layer of the Earth's atmosphere?'

'Based on our current velocity? Three minutes, twelve seconds.' The navigation officer said.

'Reactors back online, sir.' Tyler called from operations. 'Partially. The main reactors are still cooling off but the secondary ones are functional, giving us twenty-three percent output.'

'Good enough. Lieutenant Franks, rotate the ship 180 degrees. Lieutenant Tyler, push the engines to twenty-three percent.'

'Aye, sir.' Franks and Tyler said in unison.

The bridge crew braced as the _Heavy _span on her axis, presenting all her thrusters to Earth, and activated them. A bout of deceleration jolted the ship as it fought to slow down followed by a second, larger one as the primary reactors finished cooling down.

'Main reactors are operational.' Tyler announced. 'Power output back at one hundred percent.'

'Very well.' McNeal said. 'Lieutenant Franks, resume original course for Washington, DC.' He activated the ship-wide intercom. 'All hands, secure from battle stations.'

'Aye, sir.' Franks quickly re-plotted their course and hit the execute button, prompting the _Heavy Hitter _to point her bow once again at Earth and accelerate towards it. 'ETA to the Pentagon is eight minutes, ten seconds.'

**Spartan-B124, Pentagon interior, city of Washington, DC. 1741 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott was stood in the doorway that led into the Pentagon's interior, hands clasped behind his back as rain poured down, waiting patiently for the _Heavy Hitter _to appear. Behind him and spread out in the corridors around the Great Hall were the Helljumpers. Some were sleeping, leaning against each other or in corners, while most were having something to eat.

'Sir?' Joey said, appearing by the Spartan's side with a cup of steaming coffee in each hand. 'Here's your drink.'

Scott accepted it with a nod. 'Thanks, Marine.' He placed the drink down on the ground then took his helmet off, swapping it for the coffee.

'With respect, sir, you could do with a shave.' Joey observed, taking in Scott's face as he stood back up, something akin to surprise written across his face. Most Marines never saw a Spartan without their helmets on, reinforcing the notion that they were unstoppable killing machines devoid of humanity. Joey's look was probably because he could see that there was a person under all the armour.

'So could you.' The Spartan replied, taking a preliminary sip of his drink but not before running a hand over his chin and the stubble there. He had been on the planet for nearly a week and in that time Scott had developed a five o'clock shadow that was beginning to grow into a beard, and he made a mental note to shave as soon as he was able to do so.

'Yeah, but who has the time?' Joey said, scratching his own stubble. 'Besides, it adds a bit of ruggedness. And the ladies like a rugged looking man of action.' He grinned at Scott but let it fade as the Spartan's expression didn't change. 'So, uh, when will the _Heavy _be here?'

'Less than two minutes.' Scott said, drinking more of his coffee. 'Are the rest of the ODSTs ready to go?'

'Yes, sir.' Joey said, regaining his earlier composure. 'We're just waiting for the word.'

'And the Brotherhood?' Since her attempted beating of Scott had gone awry, Sarah had collapsed into sobs. Hullum and the remaining members of the Pride had taken her below into the laboratory.

That had been over an hour ago.

Since then, the UNSC forces hadn't really interacted with the Brotherhood, even when moving equipment and supplies from the lab to the corridors above. Scott had briefly gone into the massive underground room and saw Sarah being held by Hullum as she cried, the Knight talking to her. It seemed that the Sentinel had suffered a nervous breakdown caused by the stress of losing her father, being outperformed by a band of unknown soldiers and indirectly causing the death of two of her soldiers.

'Still huddled around Sarah.' Joey said, leaning against the doorframe. 'You think she'll be alright?'

'Maybe.' Scott said. 'It depends on the level of care she receives.'

The Helljumper looked around at the Pentagon, a bombed out ruin that was only held together by chance, and shook his head. 'She's doomed.'

'She could surprise you.' A disgruntled voice said from behind them. Scott and Joey turned around to see Hullum walking towards them, skeletal rifle slung across his back and once more wearing his combat armour so both men could see the dark purple bruise adorning his nose.

'How is Sentinel Lyons?' Scott said, nodding to Joey to leave which the Helljumper did, pushing past Hullum to rejoin the other ODSTs.

'Don't really know.' Hullum said back. 'She won't respond to much, just her name. Rothchild and a few of the Scribes are looking through the records to see if there's anything on treating her but so far they've come up empty.'

'We could help.' Scott offered, keeping his eyes locked on the clouds above. According to the clock in his head, the _Heavy _should be appearing any second now. 'There are several qualified psychiatrists onboard our ship.'

'Thanks, but no.' Hullum shook his head, declining the Spartan's help. 'If she doesn't improve over the next few days, the Brotherhood will probably take her to Rivet City to see Doctor Preston. He's done some psych work for them in the past.'

Scott briefly glanced at Hullum, wondering at his choice of words in describing Sarah's condition. 'Have you had a falling out with the Brotherhood?'

'How do you mean?'

'You're talking about the Brotherhood as though they're an organisation you know of, not one you're a part of.'

Hullum grunted. 'Picked up on that, did ya?' he said, leaning on the exact same patch of doorframe Joey had done not a minute earlier. 'Yeah, you could say we had a bit of a falling out.'

The Spartan began to ask why but stopped when he saw a shadow appear over the clouds that seemed to come straight for them. He downed the rest of his coffee and scooped his helmet up, putting it back on and sealing the suit.

'Heads up, Helljumpers. Frigate inbound.' Scott said over SQUADCOM.

'Your ship is here?' Hullum asked, following Scott out into the courtyard and into the rain. Behind him, the ODSTs poured out of the Pentagon's interior, carrying various boxes filled with supplies and equipment.

'Yes.' Scott craned his neck skyward, watching as the _Heavy Hitter _broke through the cloud layer and headed for the Pentagon, throwing up a huge gust of wind as she came in to land. Scott and the others braced themselves against it as best they could until the _Heavy _finally came to a stop, her bulk covering the entire inner area from the rain.

'Wow, that's smaller than I expected.' Hullum said, staring up at the underside of the frigate as it inched forward until the bottom doors on the hangar were clear of the walls, allowing one of them to descend.

'It's bigger than the Pentagon.' Tara pointed out.

'Yeah, I guess.' Hullum conceded, watching the door set into the bottom of the hangar come down. On it was Gunnery Sergeant Mitchell and several naval personnel, most of whom were doctors crowded around a stretcher, though Scott saw Captain McNeal.

Mitchell jumped off the lowered door first, walking over to Scott and Hullum. 'You look after my boys whilst I was gone, Commander?'

'Yes, Gunnery Sergeant.' Scott said, nodding over his shoulder at the members of Alpha Squad.

'Thanks.' The veteran NCO bumped Scott on the shoulder then left to speak with his men, only to be replaced by McNeal.

'Captain McNeal, sir.' Scott said, coming to a crisp salute on reflex as the senior naval officer approached.

'As you were, Spartan.' McNeal said, returning the salute as he looked between Scott and Hullum, arching an eyebrow at the latter's bruise. 'What happened to you?'

'I got sucker punched.' Hullum said, glancing past McNeal to the medical team. 'Is that Glade?'

'It is. Doctors worked on him for more than six hours to fix the damage that the bullet caused. They got most of it but couldn't save his eye.' McNeal said, escorting Hullum over to his wounded comrade, Scott following close behind. 'They had to replace it with a cloned one.'

'You guys have that kind of tech?' Hullum asked, mildly surprised as he and Scott helped Glade down from the ship, placing his stretcher on the ground with care.

'Yes.' One of the doctors, Anna, said as she jumped down after Glade. 'Now, your friend is still recovering from his surgery so try to keep the wound clean and swap his bandages once every two days. Other than that, he's going to be fine.'

'Thanks, doc.' Hullum shook her hand as Rothchild and several Knights and Paladins emerged from the underground lab.

'What the...' the head Scribe managed to say, taken aback by the sight of the frigate. He quickly regained control of his wits and strode over the Hullum and Scott. 'Is that their ship?'

'No, it's a new kind super mutant.' Hullum said sarcastically as two Knights picked up Glade's stretcher and carried him inside after receiving the same instructions as Hullum. 'Of course it's their ship.'

Scott saw McNeal arch an eyebrow and give the Spartan an inquisitive look which he returned with a shrug, a difficult feat in the MJOLNIR armour, and made a later gesture with his hand.

Rothchild glared at Hullum for a brief second then shifted his gaze upwards to take in as much of the frigate hovering above them as possible, fascinated by it.

'You should see the carriers and cruisers.' McNeal said. 'Your eyes would be out on stalks.' He signalled for the ODSTs to get onto the lowered door. 'Now, it was my understanding that you might have compiled a list of all the places that might have access to heavy manufacturing facilities?'

'Hmm?' Rothchild said, still captivated by the _Heavy. _'Oh, yes. Sorry.' He tore his gaze away from the warship and headed back into the laboratory underground, leaving Hullum with Scott and McNeal.

'Why have you had a falling out with them?' Scott asked once Rothchild and the others were out of earshot, resuming their earlier conversation.

'I got into a shouting match with Paladin Kodiak about what happened in the Vault.' Hullum said, crossing his arms. 'He thinks I should have been fighting alongside the Pride when they rushed Talon Company, not sitting at the back following your orders, Commander.' He gently touched the skin around his nose, worrying the edges of the bruise. 'Even flat out said I wasn't staying true to what Elder Lyons stood for.'

'So what are you going to do?' McNeal said, watching as all the Helljumpers climbed onto the waiting platform.

'Probably go back to what I usually did before joining the Brotherhood.' Hullum said, shrugging. 'Try and keep the Capital Wasteland free of trouble but, to be honest, it can along just fine without me. She's done a lot of growing up in the past six years. Megaton's doing fine, Rivet City is making huge profits thanks to the Purifier, Big Town's going okay with MacCready in charge and now that Talon Company is out of the picture? Hell, I think there's a chance the Capital Wasteland might actually prosper.'

'Ever considered leaving it to go explore somewhere else?' McNeal asked.

'Sometimes.' Hullum said, shrugging again. 'But every time I do, something always comes up and stops me. Guess I might have a chance now.'

'How would you feel about coming with us, then?' the Captain offered, nodding up at the ship. 'We could use someone who knows what to expect down here and can handle themselves.'

'I don't know.' Hullum said slowly as Rothchild reappeared, flanked by two Knights. 'Most of the dangers the Capital Wasteland faced are gone, but the Brotherhood isn't back to full strength yet. There are still raiders and super mutants to deal with.'

'I understand.' McNeal said. 'It's your choice whether you stay or go.'

'On the other hand,' Hullum continued after McNeal finished speaking. 'I could do with some time away from here, let things with the Brotherhood cool off. And who knows? A chance of scenery would be nice.'

'So, is that a yes or a no?' McNeal said, hoping for clarification.

'That's a yes.' Hullum confirmed as Rothchild and the two Knights finally arrived.

'I don't know how accurate this information is, seeing as we've been here for thirty years now, but your best bet to find the equipment you need is west, in the Nevada region.' Rothchild handed a scrap of paper to McNeal who scrutinised the names written on it before handing it to Scott who relayed the information to Sasha and the bridge crew. 'The original Brotherhood of Steel is located there, as well as a growing nation called the New California Republic, though if I were you I'd head to what's left of Las Vegas. It was the heart of various companies like RobCo Industries and REPCONN Areospace.'

'Thanks.' McNeal held his hand out for Rothchild to shake which he did. When he let go, McNeal jumped up onto the platform, helped by the ODSTs already on it. Scott followed him, then Hullum.

'You're going with them?' Rothchild said.

'Yeah.' the Knight said, turning around to face the Scribe. 'They needed a tour guide and I thought why not? It gives me a chance to see what else is out there. You know, explore the world. Plus, it gives us a break from each other so really, it's a win-win.'

'But what about the Brotherhood?' Rothchild said, pointing at the Pentagon.

'You guys managed without me once, and I'm sure you can do it again.' Hullum gave a sloppy salute to Rothchild. 'Don't forget to look into how those bombs found their way inside the Aqua Pura barrels. Me thinks there might be a traitor in your midst. Until next time!'

McNeal waited until Hullum had finished saying goodbye to the Brotherhood member before activating the lift, retracting it back into the ship. When it finally slid into place inside the hangar, he marched over to a wall mounted intercom and connected it to the bridge.

'Lieutenant Murphy? This is the Captain. Plot a course that takes us to the State of Nevada.' He ordered then, with a grin, added, 'We're going to Vegas, baby!'


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Sixteen

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**en route to the State of Nevada. 1747 Hours, September 11, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

As McNeal finished speaking into the intercom, the deck beneath his and the ODSTs' feet lurched as the ship began moving.

'We're going to Vegas, baby?' Mitchell said as he and the ODSTs began leaving the hangar. 'Really?'

'Sorry.' McNeal said back, grinning at the NCO. 'I couldn't resist.'

'Uh huh.' Mitchell said, shaking his head as he followed the last of his men into the main part of the ship, leaving McNeal with Scott and Hullum, the former of the two standing at ease whilst the latter was looking over every inch of the _Heavy _with fascination, much like Rothchild had done.

'A bit different to my ship.' Hullum said aloud, walking in front of Scott as McNeal led the three of them through a doorway which slid shut after them and sealed with a faint click.

'You have a ship?' McNeal said as they entered an elevator, pressing the button for a deck above them.

'Yeah, an alien mothership that abducted me what, five years ago?' Hullum shrugged. 'Don't really remember the when but I can tell you that she's pretty advanced. Got shields, lasers and everything is shiny. Surprised you guys didn't see it when you arrived.'

The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open, revealing a corridor teeming with ODSTs as they went into and came out of the ship's armoury, stowing their guns, before moving to the medical deck for examinations.

Hullum stepped out of the elevator first, head constantly moving as he tried to take as much as possible, while McNeal looked up at the Spartan next to him, worry on his face which as he headed after the Brotherhood Knight.

'About that...' McNeal said, directing Hullum into the armoury. 'We did encounter a UFO when we arrived at Earth but were forced to engage and destroy it.'

Scott stopped in the doorway, drawing his rifle as Hullum froze at McNeal's words then relayed orders to the few Helljumpers still in the armoury to quietly pick up a weapon over SQUADCOM.

'You did what?' Hullum said quietly, turning to face McNeal.

'We destroyed it.' McNeal said apologetically. 'But it was in self-defence only. The UFO attacked first without even trying to contact us, damaging the _Heavy. _After that, my hands were tied. I'm sorry.'

'You destroyed it.' Hullum said, stepping closer to the Captain and prompting Scott to move forward and stand behind McNeal, rifle still held loosely across his chest.

'He acted in accordance with UNSC protocol.' The Spartan said evenly, keeping his stare locked on Hullum as three Helljumpers took up positions behind him, pistols drawn but held down by their sides. 'When faced by a craft of unknown origin, attempts must be made to establish contact with the craft but caution must also be used. If the alien craft commences hostilities without first establishing contact, or launches an attack when UNSC forces try to communicate, then it is the duty of the commanding officer to ensure the safety of the ship and its crew by any means necessary.

'The UFO you commanded opened fire on the _Heavy Hitter _before we could establish contact with those onboard and Captain McNeal responded accordingly.' Scott continued. 'We had no way of knowing that the ship had a human crew. _It _attacked _us.'_ He nodded to the three ODSTs behind Hullum and they raised their pistols as one, all pointed at Hullum who's hand was resting firmly on the butt of his own pistol.

'I had no idea that your people were on that thing, Knight.' McNeal said calmly, despite the five armed men surrounding him and a palpable tension in the air that was slowly rising. 'But you have to understand that once they began the attack, I had to respond in kind. The UNSC has clear procedures in place for dealing with hostile alien life and as far as I knew, this was just another one. I'm sorry.'

Hullum clenched his jaw and looked at McNeal, then to Scott, then over his shoulder at the Helljumpers standing behind him. 'Why didn't you tell me about Zeta when we first met?'

'We didn't know it was connected to you.' McNeal said, assuming Zeta was the name of the craft. 'It was treated as a hostile and dealt with like one.'

The Brotherhood Knight looked away from everyone, shoulders slumping. 'Shit. Sally.' He threw his arms up in frustration then dropped them before rubbing his face.

'Again, I'm sorry for what happened but we didn't know.' McNeal said as Scott signalled for the ODSTs to stand down. 'We acted only in self defence.'

'I know, you keep saying that.' Hullum said, levelling McNeal with a flat expression. 'Still doesn't change anything. You destroyed Zeta and killed some of my friends. No amount of apologising can bring them back.'

'I never expected it to.' The naval officer responded. 'I just wished to express my apologies.'

'Thanks.' He said as the ODSTs stepped away and Scott holstered his rifle. 'Just try not to kill any more of my friends.'

'I'll try.' McNeal said. 'Now, it'll be a while before we reach Nevada so until then you can use any of the ship's amenities. Gunnery Sergeant Mitchell will escort you to the Marine barracks where you can have a shave and a wash but before then, I'll have to ask you to surrender all your weapons.'

'All of them?' Hullum repeated, looking concerned. 'Why?'

'It's standard procedure to store all weapons when not in use.' Scott said, taking his assault rifle from his back and placing it into a rack alongside six others, followed closely by the pistol and all their magazines. His grenades came next, fitting neatly into an egg-carrier styled box. 'Safety reasons.'

Hullum held out for a second longer then finally relented, handing the skeletal rifle to Scott who placed into a nearby empty box, along with the battered pistol, six fragmentation grenades, two combat knives, a switchblade, some spiked knuckle dusters and three odd looking cylindrical devices Hullum said were pulse grenades that emitted an electromagnetic pulse upon detonation. Scott gingerly placed these and Hullum's ammunition into the box before replacing the lid and locking it down.

'Don't worry, they'll be safe.' Mitchell said as he entered the room, seeing Hullum's expression as Scott lifted the box with ease and tucked into a corner of the armoury. 'Come on, I'll take ya to the bunk me and Alpha are using. Could probably use you to help decide on what kind of dance to give Bravo.' The Marine placed a hand on Hullum's back, gently leading him from the armoury to the bunk area of the _Heavy, _which left McNeal and Scott alone.

'Go get some rest, Commander.' McNeal said as the pair exited the armoury. 'We're going to reach Nevada at midnight but I'm not going to start ground operations until oh-six-hundred.'

'Aye, sir.' Scott replied, nodding once, before spinning on his heel and marched to the medical deck.

**Spartan-B124, Aboard Pelican Charlie 021, en route to State of Nevada. 0612 Hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The sun was already high in the sky as Scott, Hullum and four ODSTs got their first glimpse of the desert that made up most of Nevada. Like the one in Washington, DC, it was desolate and littered with the ruins of once proud buildings though to a lesser degree. Many seemed to be more intact than their East Coast counterparts, looking as if it had been only time that had damaged them, not nuclear fire.

The Spartan was sat next to the open aft drop hatch, silently watching the world as it went past. Opposite him was Hullum, cradling his rifle. To Scott's left were the ODSTs. Mitchell and Joey were sat on the starboard side of the Pelican with Leo and Cooper on the port side. McNeal had requested a small expeditionary force to perform initial recon of the land before he would send in a larger group so Scott had asked Mitchell to pick three of his men to go with him and Hullum.

'Commander?' Wright called out from the cockpit. 'Five minutes until we reach the target area.'

'Acknowledge pilot.' Scott said, unclipping his restraints and pulling out a BR55HB SR from beneath his feet. He'd swapped his assault rifle for the battle rifle, trading rate of fire for accuracy at longer ranges, and checked the weapon over, making sure the magazine worked correctly and pulled the charging handle as the Helljumpers performed similar checks with their equipment. Hullum, meanwhile, just checked that there was round chambered in his gun as the dropship came lower, passing a rock-lined ridge.

'Thirty seconds.' Wright warned, lowering the Pelican to the desert floor.

When it was less than a metre from it, Scott jumped down and swept the area for threats, battle rifle nestled firmly against his shoulder, then lowered it when he was satisfied there wasn't anything there.

'All clear.' He said as the ODSTs and Hullum jumped down after him. 'Shut it down, pilot.'

'Aye aye, sir.' Wright said, killing power to the Pelican's engines as Scott and his team began spreading out, searching the area.

As the _Heavy _had approached the city of Las Vegas, a routine sweep of the city using the ship's main radar which revealed an area to the south that caused some interference with the system, making it struggle to lock onto the source, but Lieutenant Franks had managed to clear enough of the interference up to narrow down the target area and McNeal had sent Scott and the Helljumpers to investigate the source.

'Staggered line, spacing of twenty feet between each man.' Scott said as they began their search. 'Look for anything that doesn't belong.'

'That might be a bit difficult.' Joey said, looking at the debris strewn land in front of him. 'Whole load of junk for us to search through. I can see rocks, rusted barrels, bits of a chain link fence, more rocks and even the hulk of a robot. How will we know if something doesn't belong?'

'Use your gut instinct.' Mitchell said, inspecting the dead machine. It had no legs, only a single wheel where they should be, and arms that started from massively broad shoulders and terminated in a three-pronged claw. Where the face should be was a TV screen that was cracked and dead. 'Whatever was creating the radar interference must be pretty advanced to screw with our systems, so look for stuff that's part of an industrial complex or something.'

'On it, Gunny.' Joey said.

'Tara, any luck pinpointing the source?' Scott asked the AI as he crested a rise and surveyed the valley they were in.

'No, sir. The interference seems to be coming from everywhere at once, preventing me from narrowing it down.' Tara said as she performed a sweep of the area. 'It's almost like we're standing inside it.'

Scott hummed, swinging his gaze from side to side, trying to spot something that didn't belong, but like Joey had said the whole place was littered with junk making the task that bit more difficult.

'Found something!' Cooper yelled, waving to the others. 'Looks kinda like a vent.' He kept waving until the group came to him then pointed to a large square fan that was only just visible above the dirt and dust surrounding it.

'No visible piping underneath the fan.' Tara said as Scott examined the object. 'And the cowling appears to be designed to blow air in a specific direction when activated.'

'Why though?' Mitchell said, kneeling next to the fan. He felt along the sides of it, searching for an edge. 'Why blow air in a single direction?'

As if on cue, a gust of wind kicked up a plume of dust that swept past the Marine's legs and appeared as a large yellow blob on Scott's motion tracker, making him frown.

'Strange.' Tara said as the cloud dispersed. 'Dust clouds of that size don't usually show up unless they're particularly dense.'

'Maybe it's something in the soil.' Scott speculated, dropping to one knee and running his hand through the dirt.

'Analysing.' The AI said, powering up the sensors built into the Spartan's armour. 'Detecting high levels of aluminium and silicates more commonly found in chaff than in dirt.'

'Soil that acts like chaff?' Mitchell said, scooping up a handful as well. 'Why would you need that?'

'To protect something valuable.' Scott said, standing up and scanning the terrain again. 'This fan must be part of a larger network that creates a localised dust storm over the surface, rendering targeting radars useless and forces an opponent to rely on either guess work or luck to strike it.' To his left was a cliff face, rising a few metres into the air whilst open space filled Scott's right. 'Whatever is hidden here, there should be an entrance to it somewhere nearby.'

'So, we've gone from investigating why this place made the ship's radar go haywire to searching for some underground facility?' Joey said as Mitchell stood up and dusted his hands down.

'Looks like it, Trooper.' The NCO said. 'Get walking.'

The Marines fanned out in a rough semi-circle, looking for anything that might have been a concealed entrance whilst Hullum joined Scott.

'What do you think might be down there?' he asked.

'Some kind of government bunker, possibly a military complex.' Scott said. 'This degree of protection would fit either though I find myself leaning more towards the military.'

'Why?'

'Because the fence has signs that say USAF, or United States Armed Forces, every third fence post.' The Spartan said, pointing at the rickety fence that had rusted away in many places but was still standing in others. 'Not to mention that there's a satellite station to the north.'

'Oh.' Hullum nodded as he and Scott crested another rise when Cooper once again yelled that he'd found something.

'Got a door.' The ODST marksman said as the others drew close, pointing at a metal door set into a concrete bunker. Graffiti covered most of the surface, somehow having survived years of harsh conditions and nuclear war, and was all based on promoting peace. The door itself was in reasonable condition though rust had taken hold in a few areas, but this didn't stop it from opening as Hullum reached out activated the control to operate it.

'Mitchell, Hullum, with me.' Scott said, shouldering his rifle and moving towards the now open passageway. 'Joey, you, Cooper and Leo stay here.'

'Yes, sir.' The Marines said, doing as ordered. Mitchell raised his assault rifle and took up position behind Scott then followed the Spartan into the dark hallway. Hullum brought up the rear, his own rifle ready and waiting to be used.

**Spartan-B124, on Interstate 15 en route to Las Vegas. 0703 Hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The bunker had turned out to be a dead end, the hallway leading to a large room that had a second door on the other side but any progress beyond that was blocked by rubble. Scott and his team had then searched the area surrounding the bunker and found three more, each in similar condition to the first with their interiors filled by rubble, and after confirming that there were no more in the immediate area, they left the facility and headed onto an old road that wound its way north towards Vegas, some seventy kilometres distant.

They had decided to go by foot when Tara had detected radar emissions coming from the city that were almost identical to targeting radars used in anti-aircraft emplacements which was confirmed by the _Heavy Hitter _after it performed a more dedicated sweep with the sensors onboard the ship, so rather than risk the dropship Scott had ordered it to return to the frigate which was currently holding position to the far east.

'You know, this place is a whole lot more pretty than the DC wasteland.' Joey said as the six of them kept up a steady pace, armoured feet making muted thuds every time they came down on the worn tarmac. 'Not as much destruction or car wrecks, no oppressive feeling towering over you. Hell, it looks like the war never happened.'

'Makes you wonder why, don't it?' Hullum said, wiping sweat from his head. While the Mojave Desert was far cleaner than the areas in and around Washington, DC, it was also far hotter and Hullum was suffering for it. Scott and the ODSTs wore armour that could regulate its temperature to keep the operator cool or match ambient temperatures to help ODSTs go undetected. Hullum's armour, however, did not have that feature. It was simply a series of ceramic plates set onto a bodysuit made of thick, woven materials that was both bullet and heat resistant but ineffective at keeping the Knight cool.

'Not really.' Mitchell said, walking backwards for a few paces to check nothing was following them then went back to how he had been. 'I'm a soldier. I don't get paid to care about stuff like that. I get paid to blow shit up, like every other Helljumper.'

'Oo-rah.' Leo, Joey and Cooper said as one.

'Could be that Nevada had several ABM sites set up around Las Vegas.' Tara said as Scott walked on, warily scanning the route ahead. There was a small, nagging feeling at the base of his skull that was whispering about a danger of some kind nearby. He couldn't see anything obvious but his training had drilled into him the importance of listening to those voices and it had saved the Spartan more times than he could remember.

'Doubt it.' Hullum said. 'If they had that technology, why not install it around DC? That was the capital after all, a place that's a little more important than a city dedicated to gambling.'

'Depends on who you ask.' Cooper said, jogging to be next to Hullum. 'People who are in to politics and all that shit would probably say DC is more important. But if you ask people like me and the Gunny then Vegas is going to be deemed the better choice to install ABM emplacements.'

'And you guys are the more realistic people, aren't you?' Hullum joked as they entered a shallow valley, the road flowing with it.

'Damn straight.' Mitchell bumped Hullum on the shoulder. 'Nice to meet someone who knows how it is.'

The nagging voice persisted as Hullum and the Helljumpers laughed.

'Keep your eyes peeled, Troopers.' Scott finally said, bringing his battle rifle up to sweep the area in fast, smooth movements. 'I don't think we're alone anymore.'

Instantly the ODSTs became serious, snapping weapons up and doing the same as Scott, though their movements weren't as fluid as his.

'Trouble?' Mitchell asked, his assault rifle scanning high and low.

'Maybe, Gunnery Sergeant.' Scott said. 'It feels like we're walking into an ambush. Weapons free, Marines. You have permission to engage.'

'Copy that, sir.' Mitchell said. 'Cooper, watch our six. Joey, you have the left flank. I'll take the right. Leo, in the middle with Hullum. I don't want out only medic to get hit.'

The Helljumpers did as ordered, falling into position and forming a loose box around Leo and Hullum with Scott on point. As one, they continued down the road but at a much slower, more cautious pace with fingers on triggers and heads on swivels.

'Alert!' Tara said urgently over SQUADCOM. 'Unknown bio-sign detected at extreme range and closing awfully fast.' She flared a waypoint on the contact, directly in front of the group and barely two hundred metres away, getting closer all the time.

Scott peered down the scope of his battle rifle, activating the 2X zoom it possessed, and saw a huge two-legged monster lumbering towards them.

It was big, standing well over ten feet tall, with arms that ended in powerful looking claws which were easily twelve inches long and covered in gouges, while two massive horns curled from the creature's head and hung over a face that was composed mainly of a fearsome looking jaw that held dozens of sharp teeth, above which was a reptilian nose and two near-white eyes.

'Oh, shit.' Hullum breathed as the six of them came to a halt. 'It's a deathclaw.'

'Is that bad?' Joey said.

'With a name like that, yeah. It is.' Hullum responded, shouldering his rifle.

'So, shoot to kill?' Mitchell said.

'Basically.' By now the deathclaw was less than fifty metres from them. 'Aim for the eyes.'

Six guns, two assault rifles, two battle rifles, a single SMG and Hullum's skeletal rifle, were brought up to firing positions and aimed squarely at the deathclaw.

'Open fire!' Scott barked, depressing the trigger and sending the first of many triple-burst downrange.

In response, the claw let out a surprisingly quiet roar for something its size and lunged at them all.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Seventeen

**Spartan-B124, on Interstate 15 en route to Las Vegas. 0711 Hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott kept his rifle tucked firmly against his shoulder as the deathclaw brought both claws back, ready to swipe at the six men as they began firing at it, all their rounds being aimed at the deathclaw's head.

This did nothing to stop beast as it suddenly lunged at them, drawing its claws in to strike.

'Scatter!' Scott barked, lowering his shoulder and launching himself at the deathclaw, hoping to use his momentum and weight to at least hold it off long enough for one of the Helljumpers or Hullum to score a lucky hit. Unfortunately, he had gone from a standing start and was unable to get up to full speed, meaning he and the deathclaw collided with the same energy and meant it was down to which of the two was heavier to decide who would win.

Despite weighing six hundred kilos, the deathclaw was heavier and as the Marines dove away from it, Scott found himself bouncing off the toughened chest, rifle flying from his grasp, and it was only down to a mixture of luck and hasty movements that he didn't fall flat on his back. The Spartan regained his footing then quickly reassessed his options.

To his left, Hullum and Cooper were firing three round bursts at the deathclaw's head while Mitchell, Joey and Leo were pouring automatic fire into the vaguely demonic creature. None of their rounds seemed to be having much affect aside from making the deathclaw angrier, though Scott could see trails of blood start to trickle down its hide.

His primary weapon was gone, leaving the Spartan with just his combat knife and pistol. He wouldn't use grenades due to the close distance between the deathclaw and the ODSTs, meaning Scott would have to close with the deathclaw to take it down.

'Keep firing.' He ordered, drawing his combat knife as the deathclaw crouched low, ready to perform another lunging attack.

'Yes, sir.' Mitchell said back.

The Spartan held his knife low, facing the deathclaw head on whilst the Helljumpers continued to empty their magazines at it. More blood was trickling down its hide though this didn't seem to bother the creature as it once again leapt for Scott, as if knowing he was the most dangerous target out of the six men there.

Scott leapt at the same time. Though the deathclaw was heavier, it wasn't faster and as it swung its arms out the Spartan dove under them, grabbing the right arm with his left hand while using the deathclaw's leg as a means to propel himself up onto its back. As soon as he was up there, Scott plunged his combat knife into the throat of the deathclaw, firmly lodging it there before using his augmented strength to tear open the reptilian's windpipe.

Blood poured from the wide gash but still the deathclaw refused to show any notice of the injuries it had sustained, even with over half a ton of weight clinging to its back. Like before with the bullets, Scott's actions just seemed to make it more determined to kill him.

'Yeah, ride him, cowboy!' Joey whooped over SQUADCOM as the deathclaw began thrashing, its long arms reaching up to try and pry Scott off who responded by wrapping his legs around the deathclaw.

'Joey, shut it.' Mitchell growled back. 'Can't you see the Commander's trying to make friends with that thing?'

One or two rounds bounced off Scott's shields, making them shimmer as he repositioned himself so he was higher on the deathclaw's back, withdrawing his knife from the deathclaw's throat then drove into its horned head, eliciting a raspy roar and more wild movements before they began to subside then stop when the deathclaw finally registered the blade lodged deep inside its brain and collapsed to the ground, dead.

'Now all you have to do is take its head off and you can mount it on a wall.' Cooper said as Scott got off the deathclaw, holding out the Spartan's fallen weapon. 'Which shouldn't be too hard, seeing as you did half the job already cutting its throat open like that.'

Scott accepted his rifle and ejected the nearly spent magazine for a fresh one. 'You can if you want.' He said, yanking his combat knife from the deathclaw's head and shook as much blood as he could off it before sheathing the blade. 'Just remember that we've still got seventy klicks to cover until we reach the outer limits of Las Vegas and you'll have to carry it all the way.'

'And given the high temperature, that thing's gonna start to decay damn quick.' Mitchell said, giving the corpse a kick. 'Thing doesn't even smell nice when it's fresh, so it'll probably really fucking smell when it rots. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to arrive somewhere smelling like rotten deathclaw.'

'Shame.' Joey said as they set off down the road again, leaving the corpse alone. 'That would have looked good mounted in the Mess Hall.'

'Yup.' Leo agreed. 'Add a sort of nightmarish feel to the place, you know?'

Mitchell shook his head. 'Remind me to never come to you two for decorating tips.'

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**holding position east of the State of Nevada. 0832 Hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'So, what are we dealing with?' McNeal said. He was stood in the storage hangar of the _Heavy Hitter _with Clarke and two Marines, both of whom were carrying crowbars and stood around a plain crate, the mysterious artefact ONI had placed on his ship without McNeal's knowledge.

'No idea, sir.' Clarke said. The engineer was scanning the crate with a hand held device, taking readings of everything he could think of. 'ONI packed this thing in a lead lined box, probably to stop us from getting a good peek inside it. I'm not able to pick anything up.'

'They wouldn't put anything dangerous onboard, would they?' one of the Marines asked, looking worried as he eyed the box like it was harmful.

'No.' McNeal said but doubted his own words. With ONI, you could never know. 'But, just to make sure, let's crack this thing open. Corporal, if you wouldn't mind?' He and Clarke stepped away from the box, allowing the two Marines space.

They looked at each other, nodded once, then both jammed the tips of their crowbars under the lid.

'Do it.' McNeal said.

'Yes, sir.' The Marines said, pressing down on the crowbars and breaking the seal on the box. A faint hiss could be heard as they put their tools down before picking the lid up and rested it on the deck.

'Chief.' McNeal said, giving Clarke the go ahead as the Marines both backed away.

'Okay, let's have a look.' Clarke held his scanner over the now open box, scrutinising the small display as it cycled through various graphs and charts. 'No unusual electromagnetic fields, no weird radio signals. No-' The device began beeping rapidly, its screen flashing red and Clarke backed away from the box rapidly, motioning for the Marines to do the same. 'Whoa, that thing's hot.'

'Hot? In what way?' McNeal asked as he joined Clarke and the Marines in heading away from the box and its contents.

'Hot, as in radioactive hot.' The engineer elaborated, running his scanner over the three men and himself. 'High levels of radiation being given by that thing though from the looks of things, we weren't contaminated by any of it.'

'But it's still radioactive.' The Corporal said as they exited the storage bay, McNeal sealing the door with a lockout so no one else could enter.

'So is most of the outside world, Marine.' McNeal said, marching over to a nearby intercom and contacted the _Heavy's _AI. 'Sasha, do we have any NBC suits onboard? The artefact ONI saddled us with has a hell of an unhealthy glow and I want a closer look at it.'

'Aye, Captain.' Sasha said. 'Retrieving the suits now, sir.'

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**holding position east of the State of Nevada. 0901 Hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Within thirty minutes of requesting the protective equipment, Clarke and two other engineers had suited up and were just about to re-enter the storage area.

McNeal and a few other officers were a ways off, clustered around a monitor to view his progress via the suit's helmet feed.

'Okay. Seals are reading green.' Clarke said, running a diagnostic on his suit and those of the others. 'We're good to go.'

'Acknowledged, Chief.' McNeal said. 'You can head inside. Just keep an eye on your exposure level. These suits are only rated for reactor leaks. We've got no idea how they'll stand up in there.'

The engineer nodded his head and waved for his companions to go through the door, following a second later. '_I will, Captain.' _Clarke said over the radio, the doors sliding shut behind him. '_God knows I don't want to become a ghoul.'_

'I still won't believe that they're made by radiation.' One of the officers, an Ensign attached to the medical deck, muttered. 'Radiation either kills you or causes tumours and cancer which kill you, not that.'

'Maybe the laws of physics in this alternate reality are different from ours.' Another officer said, occasionally sipping a steaming cup of coffee. 'Could be that here, radiation will turn you into a zombie while in our universe, it just turns you into a corpse.'

'If that's true, what else is different?' the first asked.

'No idea. I haven't left the ship since we jumped from Leon.'

As the two officers continued their conversation, McNeal watched the feed of Clarke's HUD as he held a scanner over the crate ONI had stowed away onboard.

'_Radiation count holding steady at around thirty times the normal background level but I can't identify the type. All the analysis can tell me is that there are a lot of neutrinos.' _Clarke said, voice crackling intermittently over the radio.

'How far out does the radiation extend from the source?' McNeal asked.

'_Not far. About a metre, maybe two.' _Clarke said. '_Might want to evacuate the rooms above and below us, Captain. Just to be safe.'_

'Understood, Chief. Can you get eyes on whatever it is that's causing all this radiation?'

'_Yes, sir.' _The feed went fuzzy for a few seconds Clarke moved closer to the box then cleared up as he peered inside.

The object, or artefact, was spherical in appearance and looked to be made of either polished stone or burnished metal, though over the video feed it was hard to tell, and etched into the surface were symbols that were similar in style to what the Covenant decorated their weapons and armour with, only more simple, more clearer.

'That's what brought us here?' the officer with the coffee said, leaning forward to scrutinise the display.

'Quite possibly. Though how it did that is a mystery.' McNeal said.

'Is it Covenant?'

'_Doubtful.' _Clarke said, holding his scanner close to the sphere. '_Material analysis doesn't show any known Covenant metals, or even any human ones, and I've never come across reports of Covenant equipment giving off radiation or looking like this. They usually have a purple colour scheme to them, don't they?'_

'Correct. So best guess on what this is?'

'_An alien artefact of unknown origin.' _The engineer said, cocking his head to one side as he continued to examine the sphere, occasionally running his scanner over the surface. '_But I'll know more when I conduct a more thorough examination.'_

'Got it, Chief.' McNeal said. 'Don't take any unnecessary risks.'

'_I won't.'_

'Glad to hear it. You can begin your examination. If you find anything, I'll be on the bridge.' McNeal radioed.

'_Understood, sir. Clarke out.' _Clarke cut the link but left his helmet feed running as McNeal turned and aimed for the nearest elevator, taking it up to the command deck.

**Spartan-B124, on Interstate 15 en route to Las Vegas. 1156 Hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Since their encounter with the deathclaw, Scott's team had carried on along the old highway without running into anything else, the only signs of life they saw being ravens that flew overhead, but could hear sporadic gunfire in the distance which, aside from a radio station that Hullum's Pip-Boy was picking up, was all they could hear.

'_Howdy folks, it's Mr New Vegas, and I have a good feeling about all of you listening. More news for you. The people of Freeside are praising the recent alliance struck between the Kings and the Followers of the Apocalypse, with both parties combing their resources to improve the overall quality of life in the ghetto after an increase in the reported cases of Wasteland Fever. When asked why they had banded together, the King said it was time to 'Clean up your own backyard, baby.' That news was brought to you by The Tops casino. You'll dig us, baby, we're the tops. And now, I'd like to play one of my very favourite songs for you.'_

The announcer faded out, only to be replaced by a song about blue moons.

'Kind of different to the news station back in DC, ain't it?' Mitchell said to Hullum, scanning a ridgeline to their left before doing the same to their right. He was on point, assault rifle sweeping the road in front with every step. 'Not got quite the same energy as Three Dog.'

'Nope.' Hullum said from the left flank. 'But he's got a bit more charisma than Three Dog, doesn't he?'

'Yup.' Joey said from the back. They were still in their box formation clustered around Leo with Cooper walking next to the medic with Scott to the far right of the formation. 'I wonder what he looks like?'

'Handsome, probably.' Cooper said. 'Combed back hair, maybe a moustache, with a cigarette between his fingers and a face that makes women all gooey inside.'

'So me, basically.' Joey said. 'But without the moustache or the cigarette.'

'Or the good looks.' Leo said, joining the conversation. 'Other than that, you're probably a dead ringer for Mr New Vegas.'

'Hey!' Joey objected, kicking a stone in the direction of the corpsman. 'Gunny, the others are making fun of me!'

Cooper laughed as the rock missed. 'Ah, you know we don't mean it, Joey.' He said. 'We're only picking on you because Franks is still on the ship.'

'Doesn't mean I have to like it.' Joey muttered though even Scott could hear he was just pretending to be upset. 'So how far do we have to go before we reach Vegas, Commander?'

'About forty kilometres, and at our present speed we should be there inside of seven hours.' Scott said after checking his maps. 'Though that's based on our maps of the area. The reality could be much longer, especially if we encounter anymore hostile life.'

'Well, if they do, they'll have me and Old Betsy to deal with.' Mitchell said, the NCO patting the side of his assault rifle lovingly.

'Do you name all your weapons?' Tara asked as they passed through an abandoned worksite of some kind, four ramshackle buildings and a caravan occupying a plot of land to their left.

'Just this and my shotgun.' He replied. 'You know, the big ones.'

'Of course.' The AI said.

Scott just hummed, battle rifle held loosely in his arms. The nagging voice that had alerted him to the deathclaw was quiet, apparently happy with their surroundings which made the Spartan happy though he still kept a watchful eye on their surroundings and on his team.

The ODSTs were fine, chatting amongst themselves and with Hullum who was still sweating under the midday sun of the Mojave, his only outward sign of discomfort. Cliffs surrounded them on both sides though they were slowly disappearing the further north they went before eventually petered out and the land became flatter.

'Objective in sight, Commander.' Tara announced as the six of them came to a halt on the road, staring at what lay before them.

In the distance, lying some forty kilometres to the north and only just visible against the horizon, was the city of Las Vegas.

'Move out, Helljumpers.' Scott said, taking over on point. 'We've still got a lot of ground to cover.'


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Eighteen

**Spartan-B124, outskirts of Las Vegas. 1934 Hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The sun was just an orange glow on the western horizon as Scott, the ODSTs and Hullum finally reached the outer limits of Vegas, having followed the Interstate until it came to a small junction a few miles north of the worksite, at which point the expedition adjusted their course and went east along the new path, reaching a road called Highway 95 if their maps were to be believed after spotting several travellers on the highway and none on the interstate.

Several people on the ancient highway had given them strange looks, glancing uneasily at the ODST's armour and Scott in particular. More than a few had speculated they were Enclave or Brotherhood troops that had deserted, whispering it to travelling companions when they thought they were out of earshot.

That had been seven hours ago, and now they small group came to a halt in front of the city trying to plan their next step.

From afar, they had seen that Vegas was surrounded by a ramshackle but sturdy looking wall made from anything and everything, including old building signs and train cars, but they hadn't seen a way inside until they headed to the east side of Vegas, following two travellers dressed in heavy coats covered with numerous pockets which Hullum said identified them as traders, though the lack of a brahmin, mutated cows that had two heads and were used in the same capacity as horses to haul cargo, did little to support his claim.

The two traders had cast the six of them wary glances over their shoulders but did nothing else, heading to a large gate of the east side of the city which they entered and were soon lost to sight as the heavy metal doors swung shut with a definitive clang.

'Now what?' Mitchell asked Scott once silence filled the air again, barring the occasional gunshot.

The Spartan looked up and down the length of the wall surrounding Vegas, mulling their situation over.

They had no intel on the city, no clear idea on what to expect, or even where the begin. Rothchild's list was based on information from three decades ago, during which anything could have happened to the sites, and the only one of them with extensive experience in the wasteland had worked solely in and around Washington, DC their entire life. Not to mention most travellers on the highway had mistaken them for either the Brotherhood of Steel or the Enclave personnel, their hushed tones of voice suggesting neither faction was particularly welcome in Vegas or the surrounding area.

All in all, the odds were stacked against them.

'We follow our orders.' Scott said, walking towards the gate. 'Perform reconnaissance of the land and search for facilities that can be used to repair the ship.'

Whatever Vegas threw at them, they would deal with it. ODSTs weren't known to back down from fights and Spartans were designed with offensive in mind while Hullum could hold his own in a firefight.

Hullum had talked more about his past in Washington on the walk to Vegas, describing the hardships he'd endured after leaving the safety of Vault 101 in search of his father, a scientist working to provide fresh water to everyone in the wasteland. Most of it was to do with helping others with their problems, like rescuing friends from super mutants or eliminating slave traders, though some struck Scott as baffling. The Brotherhood Knight had travelled the length and breadth of the Capital Wasteland in search of a soft drink called Nuka Cola Quantum for a wastelander and devoted just as much effort to recover the Declaration of Independence from a heavily guarded location for a historical society.

Scott had said nothing, leaving the ODSTs to voice their thoughts on the matter, but privately wondered why Hullum would risk his life for two items that were, in this world at least, of no major significance.

Still, if his tales were to be believed, then Hullum would be more than capable in a fight.

'Yes, sir.' Mitchell said before turning to his men. 'You heard the Commander, boys. Keep your eyes and ears open. We know absolutely jack shit about this place so be ready for anything. Leo, stay in the middle. Joey and Cooper, take the flanks. I'll watch our six.' He looked to Scott. 'ROE, sir?'

'Maintain trigger discipline, Gunny.' The Spartan said as they reached the gate leading into the walled compound encompassing Vegas. 'Until it's proved otherwise, we'll treat this place as non-hostile.'

'Got it.' Mitchell pulled the charging handle on his assault rifle then let it go. 'Weapons tight, Helljumpers. Don't open fire unless fired upon first.'

The squad gave varying acknowledgements as Scott hauled the gate open, Hullum following close behind him.

**Spartan-B124, outskirts of Las Vegas. 1939 Hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Vegas didn't look like anything they were expecting.

From the radio broadcasts Hullum's Pip-Boy had been picking up, Mr New Vegas had painted an optimistic picture of a city filled with bright lights advertising the different casinos and throngs of crowds that made traversing the streets almost impossible without bumping into someone else.

Before the six men was none of that. The city behind the gates was desolate, resembling a war zone more than anything. Buildings were either bombed out or boarded up, rubble littered the streets and when people weren't looking worn down, they were giving them wary looks.

'Well, this place is a shit tip.' Joey said over SQUADCOM as they carried on, passing by the gutted remains of buildings, one on each side. 'Don't think we'll be finding any replacement parts for the _Heavy _here.'

'Give it a chance, will ya?' Leo said. 'We've only just gotten here. There could be way more to Vegas than just this.'

'Doubt it.' Joey muttered.

Scott gave the building to their left a quick glance before swinging his gaze to the right, seeing a shop that was open despite the general squalor of the area and nodded at it, directing Hullum's attention to it.

'Feel like getting some information?' he said, bringing the group to a halt in front of it.

'Sure.' Hullum said, quickly ducking into the store before Scott could give the go ahead and emerging ten minutes later, closing a small sack filled with bottle caps and stowing it along with a few magazines of ammunition in one of the many pouches adorning his combat armour.

'Never can have enough ammo, can you?' Mitchell said.

'Not in the wasteland, you can't.' Hullum said back.

'What did you find out?' Scott asked as they set off a second time. 'Is this all there is to Vegas?'

Hullum shook his head. 'No, this is that place we heard Mr New Vegas talking about. Freeside.' He said. 'We have to travel through it to get to Vegas, now called _New _Vegas after the war.'

'Sounds easy enough.' Cooper said, looking around at the people inhabiting Freeside. 'These guys don't look so tough.'

'They're not the ones we have to worry about.' Hullum said grimly. 'According to one of the guys in there, Mick I think, we need either a passport of two thousand caps to get into the inner part of New Vegas, a place he called the Strip.'

They came to a T-junction and took the right-hand road, heading towards a large brick building.

'Caps?' Scott said, looking over his shoulder at Hullum.

'Local currency.' He said, patting the sack hidden away in a pocket. 'Same as the Capital Wasteland, oddly enough, and we need two thousand each to enter. Unfortunately, I've only got fifteen-hundred on me so none of us are getting in.'

'Who checks that you've got the caps?'

'Some kind of robot called a Securitron.' Hullum said. 'From the way Mick described them, they're the same as the one we found this morning looking for those bunkers.'

'If they're robots then we might not need two thousand caps.' Tara said, joining the conversation. The AI had been quiet for the majority of the trip, the same as Scott, seemingly content to let the Helljumpers talk amongst themselves.

'You thinking of hacking them?' Scott said. They came to another junction, though this time there was a gate made from an old bus to their left rather than a dead end filled with drunks and shifty looking men like it had been before, while the road to their right led to a much larger gate, similar to the one they'd passed through earlier, as well as the entrance to the brick building that was actually a walled compound.

'Of course.' Tara said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'If I can hack into a Covenant CCS-class battlecruiser's BattleNet in under thirty seconds, I should be able to deal with a few robots running obsolete software.'

'That's still weird.' Hullum said as they continued to linger in front of the gate. 'Two voices from one body? Little creepy.'

'You get used to the idea.' Scott said. 'Though it's actually worse for me. I can hear her voice as if she's inside my head.' He glanced between the gate and the compound, deciding. 'Should we try to get into Vegas tonight, or find a place where we can hole up and rest before attempting it?'

'Your call, sir.' Mitchell said. 'But I'm gonna cast my vote and say we hole up for the night. Or at least, till we're rested enough to sneak into Vegas.'

The rest of the Helljumpers quickly agreed, as did Hullum.

Scott nodded. 'We'll try in there, first.' He pointed at the walled compound. 'And failing that, we can try in one of the buildings we passed.'

**Spartan-B124, outskirts of Las Vegas. 1951 Hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The inside of the compound seemed more optimistic than the world outside, but not by much.

Around forty people were stood or sat around the compound, a third of whom were wearing white lab coats and speaking or treating the other two-thirds who were dressed in rags. One of the people in lab coats noticed the new arrivals and came over to them, a woman with her hair done up in a spiked Mohawk.

'Welcome to the Old Mormon Fort.' She said, settling on Scott to speak to. 'I'm Julie Farkas. Are you here to drop off medical supplies or do you need something else?'

'Just a place to stay, ma'am.' Scott said. 'For the night, if possible. That's all.' He looked over her shoulder at a row of tents set up around the inside of the compound. There were six of them, thick and crudely designed, and filled with people. Most of the inhabitants seemed to be ill, doubled over in pain or throwing up, while a few were shaking as they performed relatively simple tasks.

'Wasteland Fever?' Hullum said before she could speak, face a grim mask as he looked out over the compound.

'Yes.' Julie said, nodding sadly. 'Have you come across it before?'

'I suffered it.' Hullum said. 'Though where I'm from, we call it the Wastelander's Curse.' He turned to Scott, as if sensing the Spartan's questioning look from behind his blackened visor. 'It's a virus or something most people out in the wastes get. Not very lethal if you get the proper care, but debilitating like hell. High temperature, throwing up, nose bleeds, blood in your shit and the worst kind of pain imaginable, like you're being stabbed by a thousand Radscorpions at once. And that's if you're lucky.'

'How do you treat it?' Scott asked.

'You can't.' Julie said. 'It mutates too fast to synthesise a workable vaccine, not that we can make one anyway. The Followers just don't have that capability.'

'Can we help in any way, ma'am?' Scott offered.

'No, the symptoms usually go away after seven days. We just have to try and relieve the pain and make sure people stay hydrated.' She said. 'But thank you for offering.'

'Uh, sir?' Leo said, stepping forward to tap the Spartan on the shoulder as he spoke over the COM. 'Maybe we should find somewhere else to stop for the night. We'd just be taking up beds that could be used for the sick and run the risk of catching this Fever thing if we stayed.'

'Acknowledged, Corpsman.' Scott ended the COM and focused on Julie. 'If you're dealing with a large number of ill patients, then we can find somewhere else to stay, ma'am. We wouldn't want to be a drain on resources.'

'Are you sure?' she began to say. 'We can always-'

'Ma'am, we'd just take up space that you need.' Scott said. 'The sick should have priority.'

Julie nodded. 'Okay.' She said. 'You might find some space in the Atomic Wrangler but it might be a bit of a squeeze with all of you.'

'We'll find somewhere, ma'am.' Scott said as the ODSTs turned and made for the wooden gates, passing a trio of sickly looking people clutching their stomachs. Hullum stayed where he was until Scott tapped his shoulder and nodded at the entrance. 'Come on. They can cope without you.'

'I know.' He said, joining the Spartan. 'It's just... Wastelander's Curse can be excruciatingly painful, even if they pump you full of Med-X. I feel like I should help them.'

'What would you be able to do that Julie and her people aren't already doing?'

The two came out of the Old Mormon Fort back into Freeside and Scott led them left towards Mick and Ralph's.

Hullum shrugged. 'Not much. Like she said, all you have to do is make sure they keep up their fluids.'

'So where are we going to bunk now?' Mitchell asked, following the Spartan.

'There.' Scott pointed to a boarded up three-storey building not far from the small store. It looked to be in reasonable condition, the only damage to outside being the occasional bullet hole from a wild gunshot and two centuries of neglect following the downfall of society.

'Cosy.' The NCO said as Scott pried to wooden planks barring access off, the rotten wood giving up the fight without so much as a whimper, and kicked the door open with a solid kick, splinters and metal flying as the rusted lock was obliterated under the impact.

'Alright, boys. Make yourselves at home.' Mitchell said as he gave the ODSTs the go-ahead to enter.

**Spartan-B124, outskirts of Las Vegas. 2307 Hours, September 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott volunteered to take the first watch of the night after they'd all eaten something.

They were all sat in the same room, a living room on the ground floor that was filled with two-hundred years of dust and the remains of two couches angled to offer anyone sat on them a clear line of sight to a television nestled in the corner of the room. The ODSTs were sacked out on the couches, leaning up against each other for support, leaving Scott and Hullum as the only ones awake.

Hullum had field stripped his rifle and was checking over the firing mechanism, his Pip-Boy's lamp providing a harsh light to work by as he did. 'Tell me about yourself, Commander.' he said.

'How do you mean?' Scott was sat with his back against the wall, facing the only door leading into the room. He had his helmet off, the headgear perched on top of a small table to his left while a pistol was held loosely in his right hand, ready for any would-be intruders that might try to sneak in.

'You know, what you've done before coming here. That kind of stuff.'

'Oh.' Scott said. 'Most of it is classified so I can't.'

'Even though you're in a parallel world?' Hullum flashed him a grin in the low light.

The Spartan didn't return it. 'Parallel world or not, I'm still a member of the UNSC Navy and bound by its rules regarding classified materials.' he said.

'Well, what can you tell me?' Hullum said as he began reassembling his rifle.

'That depends on what you ask me.' Scott said. 'Certain subjects, like my training or the Spartan program in general, will be classified. Others won't be.'

'Okay.' Hullum clicked his rifle together then worked the trigger, testing it and nodding in satisfaction. 'What made you want to become a Spartan?'

'To get revenge on the Covenant for killing my parents.' Scott said.

'That's it?' Hullum said as he placed his gun on the floor and brought out his pistol and began the process of stripping it down. 'Just revenge? Not some sense of duty?'

'No.' Scott admitted. 'I was... young when I became a Spartan. Duty wasn't my main focus at the time. Revenge was.' He briefly flashed back to the orphanage the UNSC had placed him in after his home had been glassed by the Covenant and when the ONI officials had visited it. They had asked him a series of questions, performed several tests, then finally came to the one question that would change Scott's life forever: Would you be willing to do anything to get back at the Covenant?

Scott remembered very clearly what he had said back.

Yes.

'The duty part came later, after training for a few years under Lieutenant Ambrose.' He said, continuing. 'But those first few months, before I calmed down, me and the other candidates would get into regular fights with each other. Someone would say something that another took offense to, or we'd all had an exhausting day under Chief Mendez, and that was all it took. I sent more than a few to the infirmary. Ended up there myself just as often.' A rare smile swept across Scott's face as he thought back to his time on Onyx, the planet Spartans were forged on, but it soon passed. 'Then as we trained together, we came to think of each other as family and the fighting quickly died out until it was gone completely. I went from being an only child to having hundreds of brothers and sisters almost overnight.'

'You guys were that close?' Hullum said.

Scott nodded. 'It was the basis of our training. Lieutenant Ambrose had two sayings he made a point of making sure we knew. One of them was: Training. Your training must become part of your instinct. Drill it until it becomes part of your bones.'

'And the other?'

'Your fireteam is your family. You work as one, you fight as one, and you win as one.' Scott said. 'Teamwork was a major component of our training. A single Spartan is a potent threat on any battlefield, but having a team of them working together in perfect harmony can be a hundred times more effective.'

Hullum hummed as he removed the magazine from his pistol. 'How do the ODSTs stack up compared to the Spartans you trained with?'

'In what way?' Scott asked. 'Combat ability or cohesion as a unit?'

'Well, both I guess.' Hullum said, shrugging as he ejected the bullet located in the chamber. 'Let's go with combat ability first, then unit cohesion.'

'The Spartans were better.' Scott said. 'We had a more intensive training regime that covered more subjects in more depth than ODST training provides, and we did it for a longer period of time.'

'And working together as a team?'

'About equal, I think.' Scott said after a moment's consideration. 'Though the ODSTs are like a close-knit group of friends. Spartan fireteams are more like a family.' He reached for a nearby canteen, its contents sloshing as Scott brought it over to him and took a quick drink. He offered it to Hullum who just shook his head.

'What happened to them all?' Hullum asked.

Scott set the canteen down. 'That's classified.' he said, although he knew the truth.

Spartan-IIIs had been created with the intent of continuing the Spartan supersoldier program, using cheaper technology and more willing subjects in an attempt to beat back the Covenant after the successful deployment of the Spartan-IIs, the previous and more publically known generation of Spartans.

They were also intended to be expendable.

ONI had green-lit the project and in 2531, the first wave of Spartan-III candidates had assembled on Onyx where they had begun the selection process, staring with a night jump from Pelicans. Those that went through with it had gone on to form Alpha Company, graduating in 2537 before being deployed on combat operations. Then Operation: PROMETHEUS had happened.

All three-hundred Spartans had been sent to a distant Covenant shipbuilding yard on the edge of UNSC controlled space to permanently shut the facility down. It had been a success but all members of the assault force had perished.

Beta Company, the company Scott had been a part of before he was transferred to a specialised Spartan-III unit that used equipment similar to the Spartan-IIs, had similarly been wiped out on Operation: TORPEDO, a mission with the aim of destroying a Covenant refinery that supplied their ships with fuel.

In both instances, ONI had considered the operations successes despite the annihilation of nearly six-hundred Spartans.

Scott wasn't sure if he felt lucky to have been pulled from Beta Company to serve in Grey Team prior to TORPEDO or unlucky. On the one hand, he had lived to fight another day and continued to save lives. But on the other, he sometimes wondered if it would have been better to die alongside his brothers and sisters in battle rather than hear about it from an ONI official a year after the fact.

'Commander?' Hullum said quietly, rousing the Spartan from his thoughts. 'You okay?'

'Yes, I'm fine.' Scott said as he looked up and turned his neck one way then the other, easing some stiffness from it. 'Did you have another question?'

'Yeah. Would you have preferred to have your old Spartan team on the ground with you?'

Scott nodded. 'Though I'm not sure which.' He said. 'There's the team I was put into during training, the ones I learnt the values of teamwork with, but then there's the team I was with for most of my combat career.'

'Tell me about them,' Hullum said. 'If you can. Unless it's classified.' He reassembled his pistol and set it down next to his assault rifle.

'Well, the team I trained with was called Team Kilo.' Scott began. 'We did okay against the other squads but we were never the best in anything, though we had a certain knack for recon.' He gave another faint smile as old memories resurfaced. 'I remember one time during training, we were part of a larger group of candidates going up against another group as part of an exercise, capture the flag I think, and I volunteered us to take point.

'We managed to get within one hundred metres of the enemy base when three other squads ambushed us. I looked at my squadmates, they looked at me, and all of a sudden we just screamed as loud as we could and charged the enemy, firing our rifles as we went.' Scott chuckled a little, an odd noise to hear coming from the usually stoic Spartan. 'It took the enemy a second to register but by then half of them were down and when the remainder had started to raise their guns, Kilo was already mowing them down too.' He grinned and shook his head. 'After that, our cover was blown and the rest of the opposite team came for us so we had to fall back to friendly lines, guns firing constantly in an attempt to ward off our impending 'death' and warn our guys that the enemy was coming for the flag.'

'Did you win?' Hullum asked.

'Only after a long and drawn out firefight that came perilously close to becoming an all out brawl as our ammunition started to run low.' Scott sighed and had another drink from his canteen. 'Kilo provided cover fire for Foxtrot who swooped in to claim the flag and return it to our base.'

'Sounds like you had a good time.' Hullum observed.

'It had it's moments.' Scott said.

'What about this other team? Were they as much of a laugh as Kilo?'

Scott shrugged. 'Yes and no.' He said eventually. 'After training was completed, I was transferred from Kilo and placed in a special operations unit called Grey Team. There were three of us, making use of better equipment and higher ranks, and we fought alongside mainline Marine and ODST forces against the Covenant as well as performing covert operations.' He drained the canteen then screwed the lid on. 'Not much opportunity to laugh when you're constantly surrounded by fighting and death, but we found the occasional rare chance to share a joke.'

'Oh.' Hullum said.

'What about you?' Scott asked, looking up at the Brotherhood Knight as he stared off into space. 'Tell me about the Lone Wanderer.'

'There's not much to tell, really.' Hullum said after a few seconds. 'I lived in a Vault until I was nineteen, servicing and repairing jukeboxes until my dad vanished one day and the Overseer and his goons tried to detain me for 'questioning'.' Hullum's face took on a disgusted expression as he said this last word. 'Beat down would be more accurate. Anyway, I escaped the Vault and was thrust into the beautiful world known as the Capital Wasteland with no clue about where to go or how to survive. All I had was a pistol, a baseball bat, a BB gun, some stimpacks and a hat. That was it.'

'You must have learned quickly.' Scott said.

'Yeah, it was the kind of place where you either adapt or die.' Hullum muttered. 'Within a week of leaving the Vault, I'd killed five people. Raiders, mind you, but they were still human beings. Things only escalated from there.' He blew out a long breath and reached for a hidden flask, taking a drink from it. When he was done, Hullum held it out to Scott who refused when he caught the smell of alcohol coming from the container.

Hullum took another sip then continued. 'After leaving the Vault, I went to Megaton, this ramshackle town built around an unexploded atomic bomb which, thankfully, I made safe, before heading into DC itself after picking up a clue as to where my dad went. Along the way, I encountered ghouls, raiders, super mutants and yet more raiders with the occasional robot thrown in for good measure, until finally emerging in the heart of the city just as Sarah and her troops were heading to reinforce the old Galaxy News Radio building, where Three Dog makes his broadcasts.

'She let me tag along and I did my best to help, but all I had was this pistol and a shitty hunting rifle that had seen better days.' Hullum drained his flask then put it away, belching. 'I didn't even have decent armour, just a Vault suit a merchant had added leather plates to, but I still managed to make it to the plaza in front of GNR _and _take down a fucking super mutant Behemoth. Now those things are massive.'

'Did you find your dad?' Scott asked. Outside, both men could hear a series of gunshots, followed by several more, then silence. Mitchell mumbled something in his sleep then let out a loud snore.

'Yeah.' Hullum said quietly. 'He was... He was trapped in a Vault to the west of DC, stuck in a virtual reality of pre-War America and subject to the sadistic desires of the Overseer. I managed to get him out and we travelled back to Rivet City and from there to Project Purity where he and his old team set about restarting their old project to supply fresh water to the wastes.'

The Knight leant back and rested his back against the couch Joey and Cooper were sleeping on. 'That was the last day of relative normality.' Hullum said, looking at a random spot on the wall opposite. 'He managed to get the purifier almost operational and he knew how to get it to work, but the Enclave showed up and tried to take over.' His gaze dropped. 'Dad tried to stop them, flooding the control room with radiation and giving me and the remaining scientists a chance to escape to the Citadel, killing himself in the process.

'From there on out, I worked with the Brotherhood to stop the Enclave though for different reasons.'

'Revenge.' Scott said, making Hullum nod once.

'Which I got.' he said. 'Blew up both their base in the Capital Wasteland and the mobile crawler at Adams Air Force Base while taking out dozens of the bastards along the way.' Hullum sighed softly. 'Didn't feel as good as I'd thought it would be, you know?'

'It never is.' Scott said. He knew what Hullum meant. When he'd finally taken the fight to the Covenant, Scott had expected to feel some kind of elation, a sense of accomplishment even. All he'd felt on the journey back to Onyx was disappointment. His parents were still dead, and no amount of killing Covenant soldiers would ever bring them back. 'What did you do after that?'

'What else?' Hullum said. 'Got drunk, got laid and stayed like it for three days.'

'Uh huh.' Scott said. 'And everything else that happened to you happened afterwards, right? This trip to Point Lookout, the Pitt and your abduction?'

Hullum nodded. 'Not to mention I had to go through another computer simulation, this time to gain access to a bunch of pre-War tech for the Brotherhood Outcasts rather than rescue my dad or deal with psychotic girls.'

Scott opened his mouth in confusion at Hullum's last comment but let it pass. 'Was life in a Vault better than life out here or is it the other way around?'

'Depends on what you mean by better.' Hullum said. 'If you mean level of interesting things to do, then the wastes is by far the winner in that competition. Have you any idea how boring it is waiting around for jukeboxes to break down? Or even show signs of needing repair?' He shook his head.

'How was life in the Vault better than the wastes?'

'Some of the people.' Hullum picked up his pistol, a battered affair that was probably as old as the building they were staying in, and just stared at it. 'I never had many friends in the Vault. None that were my age, anyway, but there was this one girl I was pretty close to. She'd lost her mother at any early age, like me, and the other kids in the Vault treated her differently too. Guess you might say she was my girlfriend.' A smile tugged at Hullum's lips then vanished. 'She gave me this pistol when I escaped from the Vault, stealing it from her father just to give me a chance to live.'

'You must have been close if you kept it all this time.' Scott said.

Hullum nodded once then set the gun back down on the floor before letting out a long yawn. 'We were.' He yawned again then shifted so he was lying flat on his back. 'Wake me when it's my turn to take over.'

'I will.' Scott picked up his helmet and slipped it back on, his suit sealing itself with a click, then settled back to wait until his shift was over.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Nineteen

**Spartan-B124, outskirts of Las Vegas. 0735 Hours, September 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'God damn, Joey.' Cooper muttered as the small group left their overnight accommodation after a quick breakfast. 'You snore like a Brute when you're asleep, you know that?'

'Not my fault.' Joey said, pointing at the house behind them with his thumb. 'Those couches were piss poor things to sleep on. I've had a better night's sleep in a foxhole half full of water. And believe me, I have.'

'Ah, Skopje.' Leo said, sighing. 'Good times. Good times.'

'Franks still owes me a hundred credits from that.' Mitchell grunted. 'Lost my favourite knife taking out that Jackal sniper.'

'Did it have a name?' Tara asked, almost jokingly.

'Stabhappy.' The NCO told her. 'Had it etched onto the blade, too.'

'No shit?' Hullum said as they turned left out the house, towards Old Mormon Fort. 'I've got a knife called that as well.'

'Really?' Mitchell said. 'Well whatever you do, don't give it to Franks.'

'I'll try not to.'

Scott's own knife was safely tucked away in the sheath on his chest, still covered in deathclaw blood. He hadn't bothered to clean it the night before, not wanting to waste their limited water supplies, but had made sure the blade was still sharp by gently running it along the surface of one of the tables in the living room. Through the dust, a clear gouge had been dug into the centuries old wood.

'Do you give your weapons names, Commander?' Hullum asked.

'No.' Scott said from the front of the group. 'I use whatever equipment is to hand to accomplish my mission. They're tools, nothing more.' He paused outside the bus turned gate and slid the door open, stooping to fit under the low frame. 'I make sure they're cared for before and after missions, but I don't name them.'

Hullum came through the bus next. 'I name some of my guns. Others have names already.' He patted the rifle cradled in his arms. 'This baby is called the Xuanlong assault rifle. No idea why, but she is damn powerful.'

'Who did you get the rifle from?' Tara asked as Joey followed Hullum.

'Found it on near the corpse of this guy out in the wasteland.' He said. 'Got jumped by some Talon Company mercs when I did, so I was able to put her to the test almost instantly.'

'Technically, she a he.' Tara said as the rest of the ODSTs passed through the bus. 'Xuanlong is the name of one of the five dragon kings canonised by Huizong of Song, the Emperor of China over a thousand years ago, and means black dragon.'

'Oh?' Hullum said.

'Black Dragon, huh?' Joey said, looking down at his own assault rifle. 'Maybe I should start thinking of names for you.'

Mitchell shook his head despairingly. 'God help us.'

The road in front of them was wide, derelict houses lining both sides with one notable exception, a dance school that had a huge neon guitar positioned above the front door with the words, also in neon, proclaiming 'The King's'. Several men in jackets were stood around the outside, casually leaning against the side of the building or strolling along the street. A few eyed up the squad as it passed by but did nothing else.

Joey turned his attention to Scott. 'Say you had to give your gun a name, Commander, what would you pick?'

The Spartan looked back over his shoulder at the Helljumper then at his battle rifle, running through his memories and experiences, before deciding on a name. 'Beth.'

'That's it?'Joey said. 'Not Thor's Wrath or something more accurate like Covie Killer?'

'It was my mother's name.' Scott said quietly.

'Ah.' Joey said, then added, 'Ow.' as Mitchell smacked him on the back of the head.

'Detecting a high level of radio transmissions up ahead, Commander.' Tara said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group as they approached a gate at the other end of the street.

It was ramshackle, like the outer wall of Vegas and the one leading into Freeside, and looked just as formidable, made all the more so by the presence of five Securitrons. Unlike the one they had encountered near the underground bunkers, the screens in the middle of their bodies were very much alive and displaying a cartoon picture of a stereotypical 20th Century American Army soldier, complete with five o'clock shadow and cigar.

Two were positioned on platforms in front of the gate with another two either side of the entryway itself, while the fifth was in the middle of it all. From a tactical standpoint, it was a decent set up. The three at the front of the formation could engage initial hostiles as and when they appeared, leaving the two behind them to act as a last line of defence in case anything got by the first three.

Dents and laser burns covered the Securitron's outer hull, a deep blue that had faded to bare metal in a few places, but other than that they appeared to be in pristine shape.

As Scott approached the gate, the Securitron in the centre of the formation rolled over to him on its single wheel.

'Submit to a credit check or present your passport before proceeding to the gate.' The hulking robot said. 'Trespassers will be shot.'

'Tara?' Scott said as the Securitron held a claw out, presumably for the two-thousand caps needed to gain entry. 'A little help?'

'Working.' The AI responded. 'These robots are part of a larger network, all of which is coordinated from one central location. That building there.' She flagged a waypoint on a nearby tower. 'Accessing the data stream and locating these machines on it... Shouldn't take me too long.'

All five of the machine suddenly froze, their screens momentarily showing static before they cleared up and displayed the American soldier once more.

'Done.' Tara said as the Securitron moved to the side.

'Move along.' it said, ushering the group towards the gate that lead into Las Vegas. The other four just turned their attention back to the street leading up to the gate, scanning for threats.

'Well, that was easier than I thought it was gonna be.' Hullum said.

'What were you expecting?' Tara asked back. 'Guns, explosions and drawn out firefights?'

'Kinda.'

She made an irritated noise in Scott's ear as he pulled open the gate to the Strip, the inner-sanctum of post-apocalypse Las Vegas. 'Why am I not surprised?'

'No idea.' Scott said.

**Spartan-B124, outskirts of Las Vegas. 0759 Hours, September 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Now that they were inside Vegas, it looked more like what they had been expecting.

Crowds filled the streets and the buildings were in decent shape, their names proudly displayed in a variety of colours and styles.

To their right was one called Gomorrah and in front of them was another called the Tops and, across from that, was a more sophisticated looking casino with a functioning fountain in the grounds outside it. Dotted here and there were more Securitrons, silently watching the pedestrians as they staggered to and fro or gave directions to others that asked them.

But the thing all six of them were paying attention to was the building Tara had tagged a few seconds ago as they approached the gate into Vegas, the Lucky 38.

It was a tall tower, the top section circular in shape with four protusions coming out at right angles to each other, similar to the points on a compass.

'Odd.' Tara said after a second of silence. 'That's the source of the radar emissions as well as the Securitron control signal.'

'Then whoever lives there must be important.' Scott as one Securitron peeled off from the rest and came straight towards them, the screen shifting from a soldier to a smiling cowboy.

'Howdy, folks.' It said, the voice coming from the Securitron much warmer and open than the previous ones which had been flat and robotic. 'Nice to see you finally made it to New Vegas. Boss man's waiting for you inside.' The robot span on its axis and began wheeling towards the waiting casino.

Several people on the street stopped and pointed at them, some with fascination, some with uncertainty.

'Well?' Mitchell said.

'We go in.' Scott said. 'Whoever this person is, they must have access to or know where we can find the equipment we need. Tara, alert the _Heavy _of what we're doing and have them put the Longswords on standby in case we need help.'

'Done, Commander.' she said as the six of them walked after the cowboy Securitron into the Lucky 38.

**Spartan-B124, interior of Lucky 38 Hotel and Casino, city of Las Vegas. 0804 Hours, September 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Victor, the name the Securitron gave itself, led them into a musty casino floor. Slot machines and roulette wheels surrounded a single elevator, both doors bearing the logo of the casino, which Victor came to a halt in front of, spinning around to face the men.

'Boss man only wants to speak to the head one of you guys.' Victor said, looking expectantly at Scott.

'Only if my guide can come with me.' the Spartan said back as he nodded to Hullum. 'He has more experience here than I do.'

'Sure.' Victor said. 'But the rest of your friends will have to stay down here.'

'Understood.' Scott opened a COM channel to Mitchell. 'Stay here with the ODSTs. Hullum and I are going to speak with whoever is in charge. If anything happens, get out of here and radio the _Heavy._'

'Got it, sir.' Mitchell ended the channel and directed his men to sit down in one of the many chairs littering the floor space as Scott, Hullum and Victor crowded into the elevator.

'Hope you don't mind us being this close, partner.' Victor said as the small car began rising upwards, groaning at the weight.

**Spartan-B124, interior of Lucky 38 Hotel and Casino, city of Las Vegas. 0810 Hours, September 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The elevator doors opened up to reveal an empty circular cocktail lounge. Sofas and benches filled most of the outer rim of the room, set beside huge planes of glass that offered panoramic views of the Mojave Desert and Las Vegas, while a waist-high counter served to separate it and the inner layers of the lounge, mostly wooden chairs and the bar itself.

Victor led them over to a pair of sofas that faced each other and offered both men a seat. Hullum accepted. Scott didn't, citing the weight of his armour as being too much for the furniture, just like he had done over a week ago when first meeting the Brotherhood of Steel.

'Suit yourself, partner.' Victor said at the refusal, now hovering nearby as if waiting for something.

Hullum looked up at Scott from the sofa, shrugging and getting nothing back as the Spartan clasped both hands behind his back, battle rifle clamped into position by the magnetic strips built into the MJOLNIR armour.

The seconds ticked by and both Hullum and Scott heard the elevator activate as it went back down before coming back up again to deposit a man dressed in a black and white suit. On his arm was a Pip-Boy like Hullum's, though not quite as battered and scratched as the Knight's, and a smile was on his lips, sitting beneath a tanned face and manicured hairstyle.

Scott couldn't see a weapon, hidden or otherwise, but could see that this man, whoever he was, had some combat experience about him. It was the way he held himself, each step measured and deliberate, making barely any noise as it came down on the floor.

Scott also took an instant dislike to the man. He gave off a sense of self-satisfaction, narcissism almost, like he had accomplished dangerous and impossible tasks in the past and was proud of it, proud that he had succeeded where so many others had failed.

Hullum, on the other hand, Scott liked. He had performed so many dangerous tasks, often alone or with inadequate tools to do so, that countless wastelanders in and around Washington, DC had come to see him as some kind of hero. But the main difference between Hullum and the newcomer, in Scott's opinion at least, was that Hullum did it to actually help people whereas the man in the suit did it to further his own fame.

'Gentlemen.' He said, shaking both their hands before sitting down opposite Hullum. 'On behalf of myself and my employer, let me be the first to welcome you to the fabulous city of New Vegas, an oasis of luxury in a desert of strife and despair.' The man flashed them a smile. 'You may call me Leonard Heyman if you wish, but I'm not particular about.'

Heyman looked expectantly between the two before him.

'Liam Hullum.' Hullum said first. 'Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel, Capital Wasteland Chapter.'

'SPARTAN-B124.' Scott said after him. 'Lieutenant Commander of the UNSC Navy.'

'You're Brotherhood?' Heyman said, focusing on Hullum.

Hullum shrugged. 'More or less.' He said. 'They made me an honorary Knight a while back but don't send me out on deployments. It's a weird arrangement we have.'

'Ah.' Heyman switched to Scott, eyes flicking up and down his armour. 'And what exactly is the UNSC, Lieutenant Commander? Some pre-War faction that holed up in a Vault? Or are you a splinter faction of the Brotherhood that came across shiner toys?'

'Neither.' Scott said. 'We're a military organisation with access to advanced technology and capabilities that are working alongside the Brotherhood to achieve a common goal.'

'You're not Enclave then, are you?'

'No.' Scott and Hullum said together, though only the latter had any spite in his voice at the mention of the organisation.

Heyman cocked an eyebrow at Hullum's tone then let it pass. 'So what brings you to the Mojave?

'We're looking for... manufacturing... plants.' Hullum began to say but trailed off partway through, his attention caught by the sudden presence of a woman who stepped out of the elevator. She was dressed in a flimsy pink nightgown that barely covered her body and her hair, a shiny black, was messy and loose, almost reaching her shoulders.

Hullum continued to stare, his expression somewhere between familiarity and longing, as she sat down on Heyman's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, pouting.

'You left me all alone in that bed.' She said, as if hurt by his actions hut the tone of her voice suggested otherwise. 'Didn't leave me a note or anything.'

'I had work, baby doll.' Heyman cooed, placing his own hands on her hips. 'When it's over, I'll come back. I promise. But Mr House needs me to see to these two gentlemen.' He nodded at the Knight and the Spartan. 'Amy, meet SPARTAN-B124 of the UNSC Navy and Knight Hullum of the Brotherhood of Steel.'

The woman looked over her shoulder at them, smiling sweetly. 'Hi.'

'Ma'am.' Scott dipped his head in greeting.

Hullum, meanwhile, snapped out of his daze and sat up straight. 'H-Hey.'

'Baby, why don't you make us some drinks?' Heyman said, his hand sliding down her leg until it was on bare flesh that was lightly tanned, partly from the sun and partly due to a natural skin hue.

'Rum and Nuka?' Amy said.

'You know it, baby doll.' Heyman looked at Hullum and Scott.

'I'm fine, ma'am.' Scott said. 'But if you can, water would be good.'

'You sure?' Amy said, arms still wrapped around Heyman's neck. 'We've got all sorts of drinks to choose from.'

'Really, ma'am.' Scott said. 'I'm fine.'

'Okay.' She turned to Hullum. 'Would you like a drink or two?'

'Scotch.' Hullum said. 'No ice, please.'

'You like her?' Heyman said to Hullum once Amy got up to make the drinks, both men watching her go.

'Yeah.' Hullum mumbled. 'She looks kinda like someone I once knew from when I was growing up.' He shifted uncomfortably then settled. 'Is she your girlfriend?'

'That's one way of putting it.' Heyman said, pulling a packet of cigarettes and an engraved lighter from a pocket inside his suit. He offered one to Hullum, who accepted, and Scott, who declined. 'Another would be to say Amy is my personal call girl that lives with me and is at my beck and call 24/7.' He lit his cigarette and took a long drag, blowing smoke out in an equally long breath.

At this point, Amy returned carrying a tray filled their drinks. She handed Scott a large glass of clear water which he accepted, but not before taking his helmet off and tucking it under his arm, then poured Hullum a large measure of Scotch.

'Thanks, baby doll.' Heyman said as Amy handed him a bottle of Nuka Cola then waited for her to pour herself a glass of red wine, holding his arm out for her to curl up next to him.

'Anytime.' Amy said, taking a small sip of her drink once she was settled, Heyman's arm around her shoulders.

'You seem... awfully close to say she works for you.' Hullum said after sampling his drink. 'Good Scotch, by the way.'

'Only the best.' Heyman said as he took another drag on his cigarette. 'And why shouldn't Amy and I be close? I pay and look after her, she tends to my every desire. It's a mutually beneficial relationship.' He finished his cigarette then flicked it away. 'Ain't that right, baby doll?'

'I don't know about mutual, Mr Heyman.' Amy said. 'I get paid, treated to the best New Vegas has to offer _and _work for a very handsome man.' She sipped her wine with one hand, while the other began stroking Heyman's leg. 'If anyone should be getting paid, it's you.'

Heyman chuckled as his own hands started to move towards Amy's hips once again. 'Well, we'll have to discuss this in more detail later, at a time and place convenient for both of us. Say, my bed at ten? Dress code is optional, as are clothes.'

'Ooh, Mr Heyman.' Amy murmured. 'You are-'

'We're still here.' Scott said loudly as he donned his helmet, glass of water empty and on the floor. 'Ma'am, while you may work for Mr Heyman, he was talking to myself and Knight Hullum before you came to see him, and I would appreciate it if we could continue our discussion.'

'Not to mention you're distracting Hullum.' Tara muttered in Scott's ear, prompting to Spartan to glance at him.

Hullum was still holding his Scotch glass, now half empty, and was staring at Amy with a look tinged with regret at some past action rather than the longing Scott had seen earlier.

Heyman noticed it too then cast a worried glance at Victor as he stood behind Scott. 'Baby doll, could you give us a few? Mr House wants me to speak with these men about something and as soon as we're done, I'll come down and speak to you about that change in payments. Okay?'

Amy pouted. 'You promise?'

'I promise, baby doll.' Heyman picked up and handed her the wine bottle. 'Maybe you could start on those negotiations without me, get the ball rolling.'

Scott shook his head and looked over his shoulder at Victor.

'Don't look at me, partner.' The robot said. 'I ain't the one who has trouble keeping his mind on track.'

'Maybe I will.' Amy took the bottle from Heyman and stood up, winking at her employer before walking to the elevator, Hullum and Heyman watching her the entire time.

'Damn, she has a nice ass.' Heyman said once the doors had closed and the elevator went down. 'Glad I bought her from Cachino when I did. Would have been a shame to waste such a shapely body in a place like Gomorrah.'

'The casino?' Hullum said, slowly regaining his wits.

'Yeah, they entice girls in with promises of glamour and fame then get them hooked on Med-X and other chems to keep them around whilst taking the 'price' of the fix from their already measly wages.' Heyman took a large swig from his Rum and Nuka. 'Even with Cachino in charge, they haven't changed their ways. Need to talk to House about that.'

'Who exactly is Mr House?' Scott asked. 'You've mentioned him once or twice.'

'Is he your boss?' Hullum added.

'That, and the leader of New Vegas.' Heyman said, turning to face Victor as the Securitron rolled to see all three men. 'And as luck would have it, he's here to talk with you.'

Scott and Hullum exchanged confused looks, neither one having heard the elevator arrive since Amy had left, then turned to Victor and saw that the screen built into his body had changed from that of a cowboy to a man with combed hair and a moustache.

'Gentlemen,' Heyman said. 'I would like to introduce you to Mr Robert House.'

'Let us spare the pleasantries and get straight to the matter at hand, shall we?' House said, taking over from his subordinate. 'You are in need of somewhere to manufacture parts for a machine, a large one most likely, and New Vegas has such capabilities. Regrettably, those capabilities will not present themselves unless you do something for me.'

'Such as?' Scott said.

'New Vegas is a rare example of being a city untouched by war.' House said, rotating his body slightly to face Scott fully. 'A fact that has not been overlooked by many within the wasteland and something I wish to maintain. Recently, though, two different factions sought control of this city and waged a long and bloody war against the other in an attempt to do so but were, ultimately, unsuccessful.'

'Evidently.' Hullum said as he drained his glass of Scotch before pouring another.

'Yes, and though I thought that neither would try a second time after their abysmal first attempt, my sources indicate otherwise.' House said. 'The last time I miscalculated, Vegas was almost destroyed by the Chinese and I along with it. That will not happen a second time.'

'So what do you want us to do?' Hullum asked, indicating Scott and himself.

'What I want is very simple.' House said, addressing the two. 'New Vegas is about to be hit by two different armies from two different directions. What I want you to do, Knight Hullum, and you, Lieutenant Commander SPARTAN-B124, is to make sure that New Vegas does not fall.

'Protect my city, and I will provide you with the parts you need.'


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Twenty

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**holding position east of the State of Nevada. 0824 Hours, September 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'They want us to do what?'

McNeal was the only one on the bridge barring Sasha, her ghostly avatar hovering over the holotank built into the command chair, as he spoke with the Spartan in Las Vegas.

'_Protect the city from two different armies.' _Scott said a second time, his voice unwavering as he spoke with the Captain. '_Their leader, Mr House, promised to provide us with the machinery and materials we need in exchange for protection of Las Vegas.'_

The senior naval officer stared at Sasha in disbelief, the AI having a more disinterested expression than McNeal as she stared back. 'Does he know we've only got three hundred Marines onboard and fifty ODSTs?'

'_No, sir.' _Scott said. '_He only just made the offer and gave me a chance to tell you. What should I say?'_

McNeal ran a hand over his face, thinking over their options. 'That depends. In your opinion, how easy would it be to occupy the city by force and access what we need that way?'

'_Relatively easy, sir. There's no dedicated military force in the city aside from robots under House's control and the slums outside the city are filled with drug addicts or worse. Tara should be able to deal with the robots and it would take the Marines less than an hour to secure Freeside, if that.'_

'And after that, we could find where the manufacturing plants are?'

'_Yes, sir.' _Scott said. '_But if we do capture the city, we'd be stretching manpower to hold it as well as defend Vegas from the two armies, if there are any, while searching for and manufacturing the parts we need.'_

'So what do you recommend?' McNeal asked. 'From a strategic point of view?'

'_We accept House's proposal and provide protection for the city up until we acquire what we need or the situation becomes too costly to us.' _There was a brief moment of static filled silence. '_I could put you in contact with House directly if you wish, sir. Let you and him sort out the details.'_

McNeal considered it. 'Put him through, Commander.'

There was a click as Scott activated his external microphone and McNeal heard the voices of Hullum and an unknown man chatting in the background but they soon quietened down.

'_Captain McNeal, I presume?' _a more educated and dignified voice said over the radio.

'Yes.' McNeal said. 'I take you are Mr House?'

'_I am.' _House responded. '_As I said to your Lieutenant Commander when we first spoke, I'll keep this brief. New Vegas is in danger of being attacked from two armies, one from the west and one from the east, and I lack the firepower necessary to stop them both.'_

'And what makes you think we do?' McNeal said, leaning back in his chair. 'I know B124 hasn't told you, but we've only got three hundred and fifty soldiers available to fight. Even then, half of them are light infantry while the other half is a vehicle recon outfit. Neither one is suitable to hold off two entire armies.'

'_They don't need to.' _House said. '_Their sudden appearance and advanced technology would be more than enough to scare off the NCR and Caesar's Legion, giving me the time to found and build up an army of my own to supplement the Securitrons in case, or rather when, they decide to attack anyway. New Vegas is too much of a prize for both sides to simply let it go.'_

'Alright, say we go through with it.' McNeal said after a moment's thought. 'What, aside from the parts, will you give us in exchange for our protection?'

'_What did you have in mind?'_

Scott broke in over the COM at this point. '_Logistical help. If we're deploying three hundred Marines and fifty Helljumpers across an entire region, then were going to need help supplying them all. Our Pelicans have limited fuel which could be reserved for heavy lifting or mass troop deployment, not resupply runs.'_

'_I doubt New Vegas is capable of supplying you and your men with much by way of supplies.' _House responded.

'How about food?' McNeal said. 'We can supply our Marines with ammo, but we're running low on rations for them. Keep them from going hungry, and we'll be in a better position to help your city.'

'_Very well.' _House said after a lengthy pause. '_In exchange for your protection of New Vegas, I will supply both your troops with food _and _provide you with the parts you need.'_

'Agreed.' McNeal said. 'Lieutenant Commander, I'll leave Vegas' defence up to you. Radio when you want the Marines to be deployed, and where.'

'_Yes, sir.' _Scott said. '_I'll need to use the _Heavy_'s TAC room to choose where to send them and speak with the commanding officers of Alpha and Delta Companies beforehand, though.' _

'Acknowledged, Spartan. I'll send a Pelican to extract you.'

The link was cut and McNeal sank back into his chair, blowing a long breath out as he turned to Sasha. 'Let's hope it's worth it.'

**Spartan-B124, interior of Lucky 38 Hotel and Casino, city of Las Vegas. 0835 Hours, September 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The Securitron displaying House's face reverted back to Victor the moment he and McNeal had finished speaking.

Scott turned to Hullum as he and Heyman sat across from each other, smoking a cigarette and taking occasional sips from the drinks Amy had prepared.

'I'm going to need all the information you have on the two armies.' Scott said to Heyman. 'Attack methods, levels of training, standard issue equipment. Anything that can help.'

Heyman took a long drag on his cigarette then flicked the finished butt away. 'Sure thing. Got some examples of their weapons somewhere around here and I know a few ex-NCR soldiers you can talk to.' He drained his drink and set the empty glass on the table, next to the half gone bottle of Scotch Hullum was drinking from. 'What do you want to do first?'

'The weapons, if possible.' Scott said.

Heyman nodded and stood, Hullum following his example. 'Follow me.'

**Spartan-B124, interior of Lucky 38 Hotel and Casino, city of Las Vegas. 0839 Hours, September 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

He led them to the elevator and took them down to a lower level, to his accommodation at the Lucky 38.

It was a little dim, the lights hanging from the ceiling emitting a soft yellow light, and looked to be in okay condition, especially compared to the room Scott and his group had stayed in the night before. There was a thick carpet underfoot, red wallpaper on the walls and a cream ceiling. Here and there were rugs, usually in front of a doorway or under some furniture.

Directly opposite the elevator was the door leading into Heyman's bedroom. It was open, allowing all three men a full view of Amy as she lay on the bed naked, hands rubbing her groin as she let out frantic moans.

Heyman smiled as Hullum looked away in embarrassment. Scott, on the other hand, simply turned to Heyman. 'Where are these weapons?' he said, ignoring Amy as her moans increased in pace and volume.

'Hmm?' Heyman said, still gazing at his call girl, then snapped out of it and pointed to a room on their left. 'Oh, yes. The weapons.' He quickly ducked his head into the bedroom and said something to Amy then closed the door, leading Scott and Hullum to a long room filled with a varied and bewildering array of armours and weapons.

Most of the weapons were ballistic guns, their surfaces often decorated in special patterns or polished to a high sheen, but there was the occasional energy weapon. Scott saw a laser rifle, nearly identical to the one Sentinel Lyons had wielded during the attack on Vault 108, only this one had additions. Most notably, a scope of some kind had been added to the top while a cage was in place over the muzzle.

Other guns included an array of pistols, ranging from those with internal magazines to revolvers, sniper rifles, shotguns, both pump action and semi-automatic, all the way up to more heavier weapons like miniguns and missile launchers. There were even two Fat Man nuclear catapults, each a different design than the other.

Scott finished looking over them then turned to the armour. There were two sets of power armour, one of which matched what the Brotherhood of Steel in DC wore. The other was more sleeker but not by much, and had no visible components on the outside. Hullum gravitated to it first, ignoring the guns.

'The T-51b.' Hullum murmured. 'Haven't seen too many of these in my travels.'

'Is it superior to the one the armour Sentinel Lyons wears?' Scott asked, picking up and examining a rifle with both a wooden stock and barrel.

'Pretty much.' Hullum said as he moved down the line, pausing in front of a black set of armour, spite flashing onto his face. 'Enclave?'

'Yup.' Heyman said. 'There were a bunch of them living in the Mojave Wasteland. Took me quite a while to find them all but they proved useful in the Second Battle of Hoover Dam to help keep Vegas independent.'

Hullum's lip curled upwards. 'Doesn't make up for they did.'

Heyman shrugged and lit yet another cigarette, looking off into the distance as Amy let out one final loud moan, screaming his name, then focused back on his two guests. 'They helped Vegas out. That's enough for me and Mr House.'

'They didn't kill your father.' Hullum muttered as he left the Enclave armour alone.

Scott glanced at the Knight as he began picking through a pile of clothes then went back to examining a series of similar but not quite identical armours set up on mannequins. Each had a duster and helmet with decent looking plating underneath the heavy clothing. All were in pristine condition.

'Tried to wipe out all of America forty years ago but I ain't crying about it.' Heyman said, blowing out a stream of smoke in Hullum's direction. 'Just because the organisation itself did evil things doesn't mean all its members were as well.' Another drag. 'I bet you came across some members that were disgusted by what the Enclave did. Even those born into it.'

'Not really.' Hullum said. 'Only guy I met that was against the Enclave was a waster they found and held hostage. Everyone else was trying to kill me.'

'Then I guess you weren't paying too much attention then.' Heyman said as he casually picked up a golden pistol and checked the chamber.

'No. I was too busy fighting to stay alive.' Hullum's voice grew louder as he spoke, the Knight turning to face Heyman as he set the shiny weapon down.

Heyman looked at him and shrugged. 'Whatever.'

The air went silent and Hullum took a step towards Heyman, hand clenched into a fist, but was blocked by Scott who shook his head. 'Don't rise to him, Hullum. It wouldn't do either of us any good.' He said quietly, hand on the man's shoulder. 'You have your opinion, he has his. Leave it at that.'

'He still sided with the Enclave.' Hullum pointed out.

'He's also an opportunist.' Scott countered. 'I don't think Heyman cares about what a group did in the past, so long as they can help him or his assets in the now.' He glanced over his shoulder at Heyman. 'You don't like. Neither do I. But the sooner we get this information, the sooner we can leave and focus on getting the parts to fix our respective machines. Okay?'

Hullum pushed Scott's hand from his shoulder. 'Just don't expect me to get on too well with him.'

'Try to not hit him.' Scott said. 'That's all I'm asking.'

'You two done talking about me?' Heyman said as he ran his hand over the barrel of a large calibre sniper rifle. 'Or do you want some more time?'

'We're done.' Scott said, turning to Heyman as Hullum rolled his eyes in annoyance. 'Show me the weapons.'

Heyman pointed to the rifle Scott had picked up earlier, then to a set of brown fatigues hanging up further down the row, then to a pistol similar to his golden gun. 'Most, if not all NCR troopers, carry them.' He then pointed at the armours covered by dusters, 'NCR Special Forces wear those and make use of these kind of guns.' Another stretch of weapons were indicated, revolvers and lever action rifles among them. 'There's ammo for them around here. Just need to find it.'

As Heyman went diving into a crate filled with dozens upon dozens of magazines for the guns, Scott and Hullum picked their way through his collection of NCR equipment.

'Not very dangerous.' Tara said to Scott as he took another look at the wooden rifle. Its barrel was barely a quarter of an inch across, most likely designed for a 5.56mm round. The Spartan recalled one of his lessons on Onyx where they'd learned about the different bullet diameters from throughout humanities history. If he remembered right, the 5.56 had been phased out of service once weapon technologies allowed for the more powerful 7.62mm calibre to be used as a viable assault rifle round, a necessary step to counter the growing protective capabilities of body armour worn by human forces, both UNSC and Insurrectionist.

'Depends on where the bullet manages to strike.' Scott said back. He moved onto the armour.

Like the calibre of the rifle, the armour was obsolete by UNSC standards. It was essentially a thin metal plate held together with straps and leather pauldrons, designed for very small bullets and stab wounds, not large calibre armour piercing rounds like the ones an MA5C fired. Even the pistol on Scott's thigh would be able to penetrate it and do serious damage to whoever was wearing it.

'Looks decent.' Hullum said as he looked over the equipment the NCR's Special Forces used. Scott joined him and cast his eye over it all.

The weapons seemed good enough, possessing a high calibre in most cases, but only a few of them fired bullets large enough to make Scott consider them a threat to Marine and ODST body armour. One was a lever action rifle Heyman identified as a brush gun that fired a .45-70 bullet, while the other was an anti-materiel rifle that was chambered for a .50 MG round, and Scott made a mental note to request samples of them for the quartermasters onboard the _Heavy _to determine how effective they would be against Marine armour.

'What about the Legion's equipment?' Scott asked.

'There.' Heyman pointed to a second stretch of mannequins covered in armour.

Scott and Hullum both followed his finger and both stared is surprise, but it was Hullum who actually said it.

'The fuck?' the Knight said, walking closer. 'Football padding? Skirts? Are you fucking kidding me?'

'No.' Heyman said. 'I'm not. Caesar actually gave his soldiers football equipment to go into battle with against men with guns. Not to mention knives as their only weapons.'

'Knives?' Scott said as he examined the chest armour on piece, easily bending the flimsy leather cover. 'That's it?'

'Well, some of the higher ups got guns but they were never very good or seen in large numbers.' Heyman said. He reached for a cigarette but found his packet was empty. 'Still managed to put the fear into the NCR, though. Each and every one of them is either trained from birth or reconditioned to never back down or surrender. They will, quite literally, march into the enemies guns and not think twice. Kinda sad, really.'

'In what way?' Scott asked.

'All they do is follow orders.' Heyman said, standing next to Scott as the Spartan picked up a machete. 'That's it. Never once will they question them, or refuse to carry it out. They don't even have a life outside of the Legion. It's all either training or heading into the next battle. I mean, what kind of life is that?'

It was Scott's life. He, and every other Spartan in the UNSC, lived it.

While they weren't born into the Spartan program, they became a part of it at a very early age, some of them as young as four, and put into an intensive six-year training regime under the careful eye of Lieutenant Ambrose, and the more sadistic and cruel one of Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez. Each candidate was taught the history of thousands of battles, how to strip a rifle and treat all manner of battlefield wounds, and in such intensity and depth that they could call this information up as though it was an innate part of them.

But what they gained in combat ability and knowledge, they lost in terms of socialising with non-combatants and non-Spartans. Scott knew of only three ways of dealing with people. If they were superiors, he obeyed them. If they were part of his team, he helped them. If they were a threat, he neutralised them. Civilians fell into none of those categories, and it made him uncomfortable when dealing with them if he had no clear orders on what to do.

He had felt this way around the Brotherhood of Steel to start with until they began joint operations to take out Talon Company, at which point they became a part of his team and his response was made clear.

And now that Mr House and Captain McNeal had formed an agreement, that same help Scott gave to the Brotherhood he would have to extend to Heyman as well and to anyone else he worked with for the duration of their partnership.

'_This is Pelican Charlie 21 to Sierra One-Two-Four. I am inbound to your location. How copy, over?'_

'I read you, Charlie 21.' Scott said as his radio crackled to life, answering Wright as he placed the machete back down. 'ETA?'

'_About thirty mikes, maybe less. Just need you to find me somewhere to park my bird.'_

'Acknowledged.' Scott said. 'Will radio when suitable LZ is found.'

'_Copy that. This is Pelican Charlie 21, signing off.'_

The channel went dead as Scott turned to Heyman. 'I think I've seen enough.' He said. 'Could you begin writing up all you know about the two armies? Their battle strategies, strengths, weaknesses. Anything that you know or can think of.'

'Sure.' Heyman said. 'Anything else?'

Scott nodded. 'Are there any wide open spaces nearby?'

**Spartan-B124, city of Las Vegas. 0856 Hours, September 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The ODSTs fell in behind Scott and Hullum as they went past, following the two as they followed Heyman out of the Lucky 38 and to the west side of Las Vegas, passing the Tops Casino and the sophisticated one calling itself the Ultra-Luxe, to a section of the city not flanked by casinos on either side.

Instead, there was a cluster of buildings to the south and a workshop of some kind in the north.

'This wide enough for you?' Heyman asked as they reached the end of the street.

'It is.' Scott said as he examined the two buildings. The northern one was a workshop if the sign was to be believed, and the southern one was actually two buildings built in a chained off section, showing signs of a rapid abandonment and no recent occupation. 'What did that used to be?'

Heyman looked at what Scott was talking about. 'Old NCR embassy. Got abandoned when NCR forces withdrew from the area. Been empty for around a year now.' He lit a cigarette, having taken the time to pick up a new packet before leaving the Lucky 38, then blew out a lazy breath of smoke as he regarded the structure. 'Mr House hasn't done anything to it, so I've been thinking of doing something with it myself.'

'Such as?' Mitchell asked.

'Turning it into a brothel.' Heyman said. 'Gomorrah is the only place on the Strip to offer hookers but they're all on chems so it kind of ruins the fun of fucking them. That got me thinking. This place is empty, meaning it's not making the Strip any money, and Mr House hates not making caps just as much as I hate screwing chem addicted whores. That's why I bought Amy when I did. So if I turn this into my very own enterprise, maybe call it Heyman's Hookers, then Mr House gets another source of income and I get a place to fuck nice, clean, nubile girls until I die. It's a win-win for everyone involved.'

'No argument here.' Mitchell said, a few of the other ODSTs nodding their heads at the idea.

Scott said nothing as he activated his waypoint for Wright to home in on.

'What do you think, Commander?' Heyman asked as he walked over to the Spartan. 'Good idea or what?'

'I have no opinion on the matter.' Scott said as he stood at parade rest, waiting for the Pelican to arrive and take in the layout of the inner part of Vegas, noting possible defensive positions in case they were pushed back.

'Really? Not even one?' Heyman pressed.

'No.'

Part of the Spartan program involved augmenting the candidates with a variety of drugs that improved their physical capabilities. After the procedures, Scott had nearly unbreakable bones, a 300% boost in his reflexes, denser muscles to allow him to hit harder and lift more, and virtual night vision without the use of night optics. It also had the effect of suppressing his libido, leaving Spartans uninterested in sex.

Heyman shrugged. 'Suit yourself.' He turned back to the old embassy. 'Yeah, I could get some Securitrons, maybe a few people from Freeside to do the place up, have it looking like a respectable place to indulge carnal pleasures in.' He tapped his lips, thinking. 'As for the inside, I could have soft red lighting, plush beds with satin covers, curtains surrounding the beds to give the customers a bit of privacy. Crocker's office could be used for the more_ unusual _tastes, bondage and the like, and Marie Pappas' office should do for role playing. Everything else, it'll be dedicated to plain old fucking.'

'As it should be.' Mitchell said.

Scott's radio crackled as it picked up a signal. '_This is Pelican Charlie 21 to Sierra One-Two-Four. I am five mikes, repeat, five mikes, from your current position. Got a good lock on your waypoint. How copy, over?'_

'Charlie 21, this is Sierra One-Two-Four. Solid copy.' Scott radioed back to the incoming Pelican. 'LZ is wide enough to accommodate you. Bring it in, pilot.'

_Yes, sir.' _Wright said. '_Charlie 21 inbound.'_

'Prep for pickup, Helljumpers.' Scott said. 'Pelican is four mikes out.'

'Mikes?' Heyman said as the ODSTs started to move, Hullum too. 'What does that mean?'

'Minutes.' Joey said as he formed up on Scott. 'We've got a dropship coming to pick us up in four minutes.'

'It's kind of like a Vertibird.' Hullum explained as Heyman's eyebrow went up at the word dropship. 'Only bigger and more manoeuvrable.'

'And can operate in space.' Cooper added as he clamped his battle rifle to his back. 'And be used as gunships.'

'Sounds versatile.' Heyman said as the low roar of a Pelican's turbines cut through the air moments before the craft itself appeared, flying high above the city. It came to a stop in the air then rotated and lazily dropped down to the waiting soldiers, rear hatch open and ready to receive them.

'We'll begin deploying Marines to the necessary regions as soon as we can.' Scott said to Heyman as the ODSTs climbed aboard the ship, voice easily cutting through the roar of the engines. 'I'll be back to pick up the information inside of a few days.'

'I'll get on it.' Heyman promised. 'But I'll tell you this now. The Legion is in the east and can only cross at Hoover Dam, while the NCR is in the west. They can only get through at a small checkpoint in the south-west of the Mojave Wasteland.'

'Thanks.' Scott said as he and Hullum joined the Helljumpers in the troop bay of the Pelican. 'Okay, pilot. Get us back to the _Heavy.'_

'Aye, aye, sir.' Wright said from the cockpit. He fed more power to the engines and the bulky craft rose back up into the air then sped off back to the waiting frigate.


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Twenty-One

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**holding position east of the State of Nevada. 1538 Hours, September 13, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The doors leading into the _Heavy Hitter_'s TAC room slid open with a whisper, revealing the commanding officers of the two Marine companies and their company sergeants who joined Scott and the four ODST squad leaders in standing around the holographic display table.

'Captain, Lieutenant.' Scott said in greeting. 'Sergeants.'

'Sir.' They replied.

Once everyone was settled, Scott began his briefing. The table showed a 3D topographical map of the Mojave Desert surrounding Las Vegas and the larger towns within it. A mountain dominated the centre of it all, rising from the ground and topped by a satellite station that had half collapsed, while the Colorado River served to mark a boundary east of it. To the west was a tall ridge line.

'This is the Mojave Desert.' Scott began as Tara's avatar appeared in one corner of the map, her lab coat free of wrinkles and glowing a brilliant white. 'Also know to the locals as the Mojave Wasteland and as of 0830 Standard Military time, our new Area of Operations.' He tapped Las Vegas, highlighting the city. 'This is the city of New Vegas. According to its leader, a Mr House, the city is in imminent danger of being attacked by two opposing factions from here,' Scott pointed at the land east of the Colorado. 'And here.' He indicated the area beyond the ridgeline.

'And we're supposed to stop this from happening how?' the Marine Captain, a scarred veteran called Miles and commander of Alpha Company, a vehicular reconnaissance outfit making use of Warthogs and Mongooses to seek out the enemy and call in artillery, said as she looked Scott in the eye.

'By simply being there.' he said back. His helmet was off, resting on the edge of the table next to Tara's ghostly avatar. 'Mr House seems to believe that if we were to deploy soldiers at each of the two crossings, it would dissuade both factions from attacking.'

'That's kind of a long shot, isn't it?' Faust, the Second Lieutenant in charge of Delta, a light infantry company, said. He didn't look at Scott, focusing on the hologram of the Mojave. 'And if it doesn't works, that leaves two companies to protect an entire region against two _armies. _How are we expected to do that?'

'We don't _have _to protect the region.' Scott said. 'Vegas is our priority, and will remain that until we either get what we need, or the cost to us outweighs the benefits.' He nodded to Tara who manipulated the map to show New Vegas. 'Layout of the city and pre-existing defences will force any invading army to funnel their troops along this avenue before even reaching the inner part of Vegas.' Scott trailed his finger through Freeside as he spoke and pointed at the gate leading onto the Strip. 'Massed fire from machine guns, Warthogs and Scorpions will thin their numbers and force them back, allowing for Hornets and Longswords to saturate the area with high explosives.'

'Okay, so we know what to do when they push us back.' Miles said as she memorised the city's street design. 'What about when we're watching the crossings? What are we supposed to do?'

Scott nodded to Tara. Instantly, the display went from New Vegas to Hoover Dam. 'You, Captain, are to simply fortify and hold this Dam against anyone or anything that tries to make it across.'

She looked at him flatly. 'Aren't you Spartans supposed to be geniuses when it comes to the battlefield or something?' Miles said. 'Because the last time I checked, recon ain't equipped to hold back an army. We're designed to be nimble.'

'I am well aware of what a recon unit is for, Captain.' Scott said back. 'And in this case, you have the necessary equipment.' The image of Hoover Dam shifted, now showing the nine people an image of the Legion armour Heyman had accumulated inside the Lucky 38. 'The army you're holding back wears little to no armour, and when they do it's hardly substantial. Your Warthogs should have enough firepower to decimate them.'

'Is that...?' Miles started to say.

'Football padding.' Mitchell finished for her. 'Yeah.'

'Some of them have a thin piece of metal covering them.' Tara put in. 'Not enough to stop a .50 round from an M41 LAAG, mind you, but it's the thought that counts.'

'Right.' The Marine CO shook her head. 'What kind of weapons do they carry?'

A picture of a machete materialised.

'Of course.'

'What will Delta be facing, sir?' Faust asked. 'More padding and knives?'

'No.' Scott said. 'Delta won't be manning a checkpoint. You'll be holding position a few miles from Charlie and Delta Squads. They're the ones on point.'

This caused both the leaders of Charlie and Delta to voice their objections, as did Faust. Scott held up a hand for them to be quiet.

'Sir, with all due respect,' Charlie's leader began to say once the noise had died down. 'ODSTs aren't babysitters for some checkpoint. We're the people you send beyond it, into enemy territory to cause disruption and shit. Why are we stuck in some outpost?'

'Because House wants to scare off the NCR, the army that's coming from the west.' He said. 'No offense to your Marines, Lieutenant, but Helljumpers would act as a better deterrent. They look more intimidating and, more importantly, can hold enemy forces off until your men arrive.' Scott adjusted the map once more, showing a small town that had several trailers to the south of a rundown building. 'This where I'm deploying Delta. It should be big enough to hold your men and be close enough to let you respond quickly to any incidents at the checkpoint.'

Faust opened his mouth to object, as did the leaders of Charlie and Delta, but all three shut them and nodded. 'Aye, sir.'

'What about us two?' Mitchell said, pointing at himself and Adams. 'I noticed we weren't assigned a place to sit.'

'That's because I'm sending you and Bravo out on long range reconnaissance.' The Spartan told Mitchell. 'If we're going to be holding the line, I want solid intel on what's coming for us. Alpha will recon Caesar's Legion while Bravo takes the NCR. No shooting, except in self defence. Understood?'

'Yeah. Understood.' Mitchell said darkly.

Scott looked around at the eight soldiers. 'I know that this situation isn't ideal for any of us. We're geared more for offense than defence and our logistical capabilities are below what they should be, but it's the hand we've been dealt.' He donned his helmet. 'We make do, and hope that our parts arrive before the fighting does. Dismissed.'

The Marines saluted which Scott returned then filed out of the TAC room to their respective troops as Scott retrieved Tara's data chip from the table and slid it into the slot on his helmet, feeling her presence enter his mind once more.

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**holding position east of the State of Nevada. 1200 Hours, September 18, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

**PLNB Transmission 09306M-17**

**Encryption Code: NONE**

**Public Key: NONE**

**From: LIEUTENANT COMMANDER SPARTAN-B124**

**To: CAPTAIN JONATHAN MCNEAL**

**Subject: ANALYSIS OF NCR AND LEGION MILITARY CAPABILITIES**

**Classification: NONE**

AFTER LOOKING OVER THE DATA AND EQUIPMENT PROVIDED TO US BY MR HOUSE AND HIS EMPLOYEE LEONARD HEYMAN, I HAVE COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT THEY DO NOT POSE A SIGNIFICANT THREAT IN A FIREFIGHT.

NCR ANALYSIS

WEAPONRY

THE NCR MAKES USE OF THE OBSOLETE 5.56MM ROUND FOR THEIR STANDARD ISSUE RIFLE AND A 9MM ROUND FOR THEIR PISTOL. NEITHER HAVE SUFFICIENT BALLISTIC PERFORMANCE TO PENETRATE MARINE OR ODST ARMOUR, EVEN FROM CLOSE RANGE (TESTING OF BOTH ROUNDS SHOW A MARGINALLY HIGHER PERFORMANCE COMPARED TO 21ST CENTURY EXAMPLES BUT STILL FALL WELL BELOW WHAT IS CONSIDERED DANGEROUS TO CURRENT ARMOUR SYSTEMS).

SOME PARTS OF THE NCR ARMY, PRIMARILY THEIR SPECIAL FORCES, USE MORE POWERFUL WEAPONS WITH MUCH LARGER CALIBRES BUT THESE ARE ONLY SEEN IN RARE CASES. TESTING OF THESE WEAPONS ALSO PRODUCED BALLISTIC PERFORMANCES THAT CAN BE CONSIDER TO POSE A MILD THREAT WITH A FEW EXCEPTIONS. THE MAIN EXCEPTION IS AN ANTI-MATERIAL RIFLE WHICH FIRES A .50MG ROUND BUT, AGAIN, IT IS RARELY SEEN, MOSTLY DUE TO WEIGHT ISSUES AND THE LACK OF PARTS AND AMMUNITION.

ARMOUR

CONSISTS OF A PRESSED METAL PLATE ON BOTH THE FRONT AND BACK, SUPPLEMENTED BY LEATHER PAULDRONS. ISSUED TO ALL PERSONNEL IN THE NCR ARMY, BARRING SPECIAL FORCES. AGAINST THE ROUNDS FIRED FROM AN MA5C OR BR55HB SR THE ARMOUR PROVIDES NO PROTECTION, AS THE ARMOUR-PIERCING NATURE AND SIZE OF THE ROUND EASILY BREAK THROUGH BOTH METAL PLATES.

NCR SPECIAL FORCES, REFERRED TO AS RANGERS, USE EQUIPMENT THAT PROVIDES MORE PROTECTION, AKIN TO MID-21ST CENTURY BODY ARMOUR SYSTEMS, BUT THEY STILL FALL SHORT OF PROTECTING THE WEARER FROM MA5C FIRE. RANGERS ALSO MAKE USE OF HELMETS BUT THEY TOO FALL SHORT OF PROTECTING THE WEARER, ESPECIALLY WHEN TESTED AGAINST THE BR55HB SR AT STANDARD FIREFIGHT RANGES.

PERSONNEL

ACCORDING THE LEONARD HEYMAN, THE NCR ARMY IS COMPOSED OF BOTH VOLUNTEERS AND CONSCRIPTS WHO VARY IN DEVOTION TO THE NCR AND EVEN IN LEVEL OF TRAINING. THEY ARE SUPPOSEDLY GIVEN TWO WEEKS OF TRAINING BEFORE BEING DEPLOYED ON COMBAT OPERATIONS, BOTH WITHIN THE MOJAVE DESERT AND WITHIN THE NCR ITSELF.

HOWEVER, HEYMAN'S INFORMATION IS MORE THAN ONE YEAR OUT OF DATE AND MAY BE INCORRECT BY NOW.

NCR RANGERS ARE APPARENTLY MORE DEDICATED TO THEIR ROLES AND WILL FIGHT EVEN WHEN FACING OVERWHELMING NUMBERS. THEIR TRAINING IS ONLY GIVEN TO MEMBERS OF THE NCR ARMY THAT ARE CONSIDERED TO BE GOOD ENOUGH, AND SUPPOSEDLY HAS AN 80% WASHOUT RATE. WHETHER THIS IS TRUE OR NOT REMAINS TO BE SEEN, BUT ANY RANGER PERSONNEL SHOULD BE TREATED AS A HIGH THREAT.

COMBAT TACTICS

THE NCR ARMY IS SIMILAR IN ORGANISATION AND METHODOLOGY TO UNSC ARMY AND MARINE UNITS, BUT ADAPTED TO A SMALLER POPULATION. IT ALLOWS INDIVIDUAL UNITS TO MAKE TACTICAL DECISIONS WHEN WORKING TO ACHIEVE A STRATEGIC GOAL BUT AS STATED EARLIER, THE OVERALL SKILL AND DEVOTION OF EACH SOLDIER VARIES, IN SOME CASES SUBSTANTIALLY.

SOURCES WITHIN THE MOJAVE DESERT CLAIM THAT THERE ARE AT LEAST TWO MORE SPECIALISED DIVISIONS WITHIN THE NCR MILITARY, A DEDICATED SNIPER UNIT AND A HEAVY INFANTRY UNIT THAT USES VARIANTS OF THE T-45D (SEE ATTACHED QUARTERMASTER REPORT FOR MORE INFORMATION). BOTH ARE NOT USUALLY SEEN ON THE FRONT LINE BUT CAN SHOW UP IF THE REGULAR UNITS ARE AT A STANDSTILL. MA5C ROUNDS ARE LESS EFFECTIVE AGAINST THE T-45D SUITS BUT HEAVY MACHINE GUNS SUCH AS THE M41 LAAG CAN, THEORETICALLY, BREAK THROUGH AND KILL THE OPERATOR.

NCR RANGERS CAN BE COMPARED TO UNSC SPECIAL FORCES AND, TO A SMALL EXTENT, ORBITAL DROP SHOCK TROOPERS IN TERMS OF SKILLS. THEY ARE REPORTED TO BE EXCELLENT MARKSMEN AND HAND-TO-HAND COMBATANTS, AS WELL AS CAPABLE OF EXECUTING STEALTHY INFILTRATIONS OF ENEMY LANDS FOR RECONNAISSANCE OR TO UNDERMINE LOGISTICS.

OVERALL ANALYSIS

AS I STATED AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS REPORT, THE NCR DOES NOT POSE MUCH OF A THREAT IN A FIREFIGHT DUE TO OBSOLETE ROUNDS AND INSUFFICIENT ARMOUR BY MODERN STANDARDS, BUT HAVE VAST RESERVES OF TROOPS. DELTA COMPANY MAY BE ABLE TO HOLD THEM OFF FOR A LONG PERIOD OF TIME BUT WILL HAVE TO FALL BACK ONCE SUPPLIES BECOME SCARCE AT THEIR POSITION.

LEGION ANALYSIS

WEAPONRY

THE LEGION, IN DIRECT COMPARISON TO THE NCR, PRIMARILY USES BLADED WEAPONS AND SPEARS IN FIGHTS, AS WELL AS EMPLOYING DOGS IN SOME BATTLES. FIREARMS ARE RARELY USED AND THOSE THAT ARE WILL OFTEN BE IN POOR QUALITY OR ARE LEVER ACTION AND REVOLVER TYPE GUNS. CALIBRES, AS WITH THE NCR, HAVE BALLISTIC PERFORMANCES THAT FALL WELL BELOW WHAT IS CONSIDERED DANGEROUS.

SOME MEMBERS OF THE LEGION, SPECIFICALLY THOSE ASSIGNED TO PROTECT HIGH RANKING INDIVIDUALS, USE A MODIFIED SHOTGUN THAT IS MOUNTED ON A GLOVE AND USES A PRESSURE PLATE TO FIRE. THESE FORCES ARE NOT SEEN ON THE FRONT LINE.

ARMOUR

LEGION ARMOUR IS SIMPLY REPURPOSED SPORTING EQUIPMENT, SUPPLEMENTED BY METAL PLATING IN CERTAIN CASES, AND COMES IN VARYING DESIGNS WHICH REFLECT THE WEARER'S COMBAT EXPERIENCE AND POSITION WITHIN THE LEGION. ALL VARIANTS OFFER NO PROTECTION AT ALL AGAINST MA5C AND BR55HB SR FIRE.

PERSONNEL

COMPARED TO NCR PERSONNEL, LEGION TROOPS ARE ALL DEDICATED TO THEIR CAUSE AND WILL NOT BACK DOWN OR RETREAT, OBEDIENTLY FOLLOWING THE ORDERS OF THEIR SUPERIORS WITHOUT QUESTION. ALL ARE TRAINED EXTENSIVELY IN HAND-TO-HAND COMBAT BUT SELDOM RECEIVE FIREARMS TRAINING AS THE LEGION FAVOURS CLOSE QUARTERS.

ANOTHER NOTE IS THAT THEY ARE PROMOTED BASED ON THEIR KILL COUNT, SIMILAR TO COVENANT ELITES, RATHER THAN TACTICAL AND STRATEGIC APTITUDE. HIGHER RANK WITHIN THE LEGION DOES NOT ESSENTIALLY MEAN HIGHER AWARENESS OF EFFECTIVE TACTICS OF FLEXIBILITY. MORE INFORMATION WILL BE PROVIDED IN THE NEXT SECTION.

COMBAT TACTICS

THE LEGION IS BASED ON THE CONCEPT OF SENDING ITS WEAKEST SOLDIERS INTO BATTLE FIRST WHILE KEEPING THE MORE EXPERIENCED ONES FURTHER BACK, MEANING THAT IF THE INITIAL WAVE FAILS THEN THESE TROOPS WILL GO UP AGAINST AN ENEMY FORTIFICATION AFTER IT HAS BEEN SOFTENED UP, REPEATING THE PROCESS UNTIL ONE SIDE COMES OUT THE VICTOR.

HEYMAN PROVIDED NOTES ON PAST NCR-LEGION ENCOUNTERS WHICH HIGHLIGHT THIS, BUT THEN GOES ON TO SAY THAT LEGION SOLDIERS SHOW LITTLE TACTICAL FLEXIBILITY WITHIN THE HEAT OF BATTLE. IF THE SQUAD LEADER OR HIGHER IS KILLED, THEN UNIT COHESION FALLS AS LOWER TROOPS LACK THE KNOWLEDGE OR EXPERIENCE TO ADAPT TO THE NEW SITUATION DUE TO MENTAL CONDITIONING THAT REQUIRES THEM TO OBEY THEIR SUPERIOR TO THE LETTER.

THE NOTES PROVIDED THEN GO ON TO DETAIL HOW NCR FORCES LURED LEGION FORCES INTO A HEAVILY MINED AREA AND DETONATED THE EXPLOSIVES, INFLICTING HEAVY CASUALTIES, THEN USED MARKSMEN TO PICK OFF LEGION LEADERS AND COUNTER-ATTACK AFTER PERFORMING A TACTICAL RETREAT.

OVERALL ANALYSIS

THE LEGION POSSES A HIGH NUMBER OF WILLING, IF NOT BRAINWASHED, SOLDIERS AT ITS DISPOSAL. HOWEVER, THEY LACK ADEQUATE EQUIPMENT TO POSE A SERIOUS THREAT TO AN ENTRENCHED FORCE USING HEAVY CALIBRE MACHINE GUNS AND EXPLOSIVE WEAPONS SUCH AS THE M2666 MORTAR OR M41 ROCKER LAUNCHER IN CONJUNCTION WITH MARKSMEN ORDERED TO TARGET HIGH RANKING MEMBERS.

AS WITH THE NCR AND MY EARLIER STATEMENT, THE LEGION DO NOT POSE A SERIOUS THREAT IN A FIREFIGHT. THEY WILL, HOWEVER, CAUSE SUPPLIES TO BE DRAINED IF THEY CONTINUALLY THROW TROOPS AT ALPHA'S POSITION ON HOOVER DAM, POSSIBLY FORCING THEM TO RETREAT IF THE ENGAGEMENT IS OVER TOO LONG A TIME FRAME.

CONCLUSION

WHILE THE NCR AND LEGION DO NOT POSE A THREAT IN A FIREFIGHT, THEY WILL EVENTUALLY BE ABLE TO PUSH US BACK AS OUR LOGISTICAL CAPABILITIES ARE NOT SUFFICIENT ENOUGH TO KEEP BOTH ALPHA AND DELTA COMPANIES SUPPLIED TO THE LEVEL REQUIRED FOR COMBAT ENGAGEMENTS, AND BOTH WILL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO FALL BACK TO VEGAS, UPON WHICH I RECOMMEND THE UNSC _HEAVY HITTER _TO TAKE UP POSITION OVERHEAD TO ACT AS BOTH A MORE DIRECT DETERRENT AND TO ENABLE QUICK RESUPPLY.

I PREDICT CASUALTIES FROM ENGAGEMENTS TO BE MINOR TO MILD, WITH FATALITIES BEING EVEN RARER, BUT TREATABLE. NEITHER THE NCR OR LEGION HAVE SUFFICIENT WEAPONS THAT CAN PENETRATE MARINE AND ODST BODY ARMOUR, AND THOSE THAT DO ARE FIELDED IN SUCH SMALL NUMBERS THAT THEIR OUTCOME IN A FIGHT WILL BE NEGLIGIBLE AT BEST.

OVERALL, I FULLY EXPECT UNSC FORCES TO BE FORCED INTO A RETREAT BUT ONLY DUE TO AMMUNITION SHORTAGES RATHER THAN BEING OVERRUN BY ENEMY FORCES.

ADDITIONAL: ODST SQUADS ALPHA AND BRAVO HAVE BEEN DEPLOYED IN LEGION AND NCR TERRITORIES RESPECTIVELY AND CAN BE CALLED UPON TO TAKE DIRECT ACTION AGAINST BOTH SIDES IF NECESSARY.

SPARTAN-B124

/END FILE/


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Twenty-Two

**Spartan-B124, interior of McCarran International Airport. 0600 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

He woke up almost instantly, the clock in Scott's head telling him it was six o'clock. Blinking away the last traces of sleep from his eye, he got up from the floor and picked up his battle rifle, clamping it onto his back.

Since House and McNeal had come to an agreement, UNSC forces had been deployed to the Mojave Wasteland en masse.

Alpha was in position on Hoover Dam, rebuilding the defences left behind by the NCR following the Second Battle of Hoover Dam and improving on them. Three Warthogs had been placed abreast with their guns facing Legion territory just in front of a wooden building which had since been used as a platform to mount four more heavy machine guns on, providing a total of seven guns to be used in case of a massed Legion attack, supplemented by dozens of Marines armed with assault and battle rifles with orders to go for high ranking members.

Delta had occupied a small abandoned town a few miles east of the Mojave Outpost where Charlie and Delta Squad had taken over as the security force, replacing a rag tag bunch of mercenaries on House's payroll.

In addition to the ground forces, the _Heavy_'s complement of Hornets and Pelicans had been deployed alongside the Scorpion tanks to McCarran Airport which was acting as the overall headquarters for UNSC personnel in the area. For the most part this was entirely Scott as the company leaders were with their troops, meaning it was just him, a few cooks to keep everyone fed, the mechanics to keep the vehicles stationed at the airport running, and the pilots for the aircraft and tanks inhabiting the building, giving the place a very empty feeling.

He had a ground floor office on the west side of the airport, the old equipment from the NCR's occupation of it replaced with the newer, more powerful UNSC equivalent. Scott walked over to a computer set up on the desk, checking over the night time reports from Alpha and the ODSTs.

No Legion activity near the Dam and only fifty admissions into the Mojave from the NCR. Mitchell and Adams had similar reports. No significant military actions observed from their locations, just troop movement and training.

Scott shut the computer down and wandered upstairs into the mess hall, selecting components from two different MREs and picked up a mug of coffee from the chief petty officer in charge of the kitchen before sitting down on a specially reinforced chair one of the mechanics had made for the Spartan, the others not being able to support the weight of his armour.

He had just taken his helmet off to begin eating when a Marine came over, tablet tucked under one arm while the other saluted Scott, who returned it.

'Private.' Scott said. 'What is it?'

'Sir, we just received a message from Mr House's employee, Leonard Heyman.' He held the tablet out to Scott who accepted it and looked over the contents. 'He's asking to meet with you and Hullum at eight. Wouldn't say why.'

'Thank you, Private.' Scott said as he handed the data pad back. 'Tell him I'll be there but can't speak with him for long.'

'Yes, sir.' The Marine saluted and left, leaving Scott to finish his meal.

**Spartan-B124, exterior of McCarran International Airport. 0807 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Scott and Hullum were stood by the gate leading into McCarran's inner compound, the latter of whom was smoking a cigarette as they waited. Behind them were rows upon rows of UNSC war machines. Six Scorpion Main Battle Tanks and nearly thirty Hornets, small nimble attack aircraft with VTOL technology that were capable of carrying two Marines on jump seats which also acted as landing skids, were sat, ready and waiting to be deployed into battle. The eight Pelicans from the _Heavy _were split between here and Hoover Dam, the only places big enough to hold them. A single Warthog was located at McCarran too, an M831 Troop Transport variant, serving as Scott's mode of transport to get between the various places within the Mojave if he wished.

'What do you think he wants to talk about?' Hullum asked as he crushed his cigarette beneath his boot. Over the past few days, Hullum had spent a good deal of it exploring the area around New Vegas and trying out a few of the weapons Heyman had provided but didn't find any he liked, sticking with the Xuanlong instead.

'No idea.' Scott said. He hadn't been impressed by Heyman's collection either.

The Pip-Boy on Hullum's arm was playing the local radio station, Radio New Vegas, and it was coming up on the end of one song, preparing to announce the news.

'_And, we're back. This is Mr New Vegas, and I feel something magic in the air tonight, and I'm not just talking about the gamma radiation. I've got news for you.' _The presented said in his charismatic voice. '_Reports are still coming in about sightings of several aircraft of an unknown origin, and the presence of an unidentified group occupying both Camp McCarran and Hoover Dam, as well as the Mojave Outpost to the southwest. This following the arrival of six unknown men who entered the Lucky 38 and were soon picked up by another one of those aircraft._

'_Sources close to Mr House say the two are nothing to worry about, claiming that they're there to help. More on this as it develops. Moving on.' _Mr New Vegas then went on to report on the Wasteland Fever outbreak as the gates leading into McCarran creaked open and Heyman stepped through, wearing a duster over light armour with a scoped bolt action rifle slung over his back. A red beret sat on top of his head while a pair of black sunglasses covered his eyes.

'Finally.' Hullum muttered as Heyman walked over. He was ten minutes late.

'Gentlemen.' He said, flashing them a winning smile that neither returned. 'How are you both settling in?'

'Fine.' Hullum said.

'No major concerns.' Scott said. 'Though when will the supply runs begin?'

'Soon, Commander.' Heyman said dismissively. 'Got to find enough brahmin to carry the food you guys need and enough people to supply the food in the first place.'

'So what did you want to meet with us about?' Scott asked.

'To propose a challenge.' Heyman said, looking between Hullum and Scott. 'It's nothing major, just things like who can shoot the straightest and which of us has the best melee and unarmed skills, maybe a little stealth testing. That sort of stuff.' He flashed them another smile. 'You in?'

Scott shook his head. 'I need to check over the fortifications Alpha has made and speak with the ODSTs at the Mojave Outpost. I don't have time for games.'

'Yeah, I'm pretty sure I had something important I needed to do, too.' Hullum said, scratching his chin. 'Like take a dump.'

Heyman's smile flickered for the briefest of seconds. 'You sure? We could do Mojave Wasteland versus Capital Wasteland versus wherever you're from, Commander.' When they didn't move, he tried again. 'Okay, let's raise the stakes a bit. You two versus me, winner gets to spend an entire afternoon with Amy, no charge whatsoever,_ plus _five thousand caps and a choice of one item from my armoury. Sound good now?'

Scott moved to say no but Hullum put a hand on his shoulder and pulled the Spartan around to have a quiet word with him.

'If he wants us to do it this badly, he must really want to give his ego a boost.' Hullum said. 'I say we accept his challenge and show this smarmy asshole how it's really done. You know, break him.'

'I've still got to meet with Alpha and the ODSTs.' Scott said.

'Which can wait until later, can't it?' Hullum said. 'Look, you told me I can't hurt him because it would put our deal with House in danger. And, you told me you didn't like Heyman either. Right?'

Scott nodded.

'So why not use this challenge as an opportunity to show him up? In way that won't risk the deal being called off.'

'I won't want anything from him, though.' The Spartan said. 'His weaponry and armour aren't anywhere near UNSC grade and I'm not interested in Amy.'

Hullum clapped him on the shoulder. 'You forget, we'll be working as a team. What you don't want, I'll have. Deal?' He held his hand out for Scott to shake.

He looked at it for a brief second then shook it. 'Deal.'

Both turned around to speak with Heyman.

'Where did you want to hold this challenge?' Hullum asked.

**Spartan-B124, on Interstate 15 en route to Goodsprings. 0910 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The Warthog bounced and growled as Scott drove it south, the all terrain vehicle easily covering the broken roads and desert hardpan. Heyman was sat in the passenger seat while Hullum was behind him, clinging to the roll cage.

Ahead of them, Scott saw the deathclaw he had taken down a week ago. It was partially decomposed, the ribcage showing underneath the tattered remains of its flesh. He swerved to avoid the body but two wheels rode over it, causing the Hog to bounce again.

'That was a deathclaw.' Heyman said, shouting over the roaring wind as the LRV settled. 'Tough son of a bitches to bring down.'

'I know.' Scott said as the road levelled out. 'I killed that one with a knife.' He pressed the accelerator down as Heyman stared at him. 'What? It knocked my gun away. How else was I supposed to kill it?'

'With your bare hands?'Hullum said from the back. 'I've done that before, once or twice.'

Heyman stared at Hullum for second then went back to looking straight ahead. 'Then the hand-to-hand part is going to be interesting.'

'I've been meaning to ask you about this challenge thing.' Hullum said to Heyman. 'Are me and the Commander going to take it in turns or do we do which ones we want?'

'You can do it however you like.' Heyman told him as Scott braked sharply next to a shack, identified on his HUD as Jean Sky Diving. As with Hullum, Tara had downloaded all she could from Heyman's Pip-Boy when she'd first detected the wireless handshake protocol.

He accelerated as the road began climbing up to the small town known as Goodsprings. 'What will we be doing first?' Scott asked.

'Nothing major. We're just going to see who has the better SPECIAL stats out of all of us.'

Scott risked a glance at Heyman. 'What?'

'SPECIAL.' Hullum said. 'It's kind of like a rough indicator of your physical abilities. Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility, Luck. They can be anywhere between one and ten. The higher the number, the better it is.'

'Ah.' The Warthog ate up the road and soon it was pulling into Goodsprings, Scott parking it in front of a building called the Prospector's Saloon.

Heyman jumped out of the LRV first, grabbing his rifle from the back as several people warily approached it. A woman wearing leather armour and followed by a dog came forward, a flimsy looking rifle held in her hands.

'They friendly, Heyman?' she said, nodding to Scott and Hullum as they got out of the Warthog.

'Sure are, Sunny.' He said. 'We're just having a little friendly competition and we need Doc Mitchell's Vigor Tester for part of it. Don't worry, we won't be too long.' Heyman motioned for Scott and Hullum to follow, leading them to a house set on a hill.

'Hey Doc, you in?' Heyman called out as they entered.

An old, bald man with a wispy white moustache poked his head from behind a door, nodding when he recognised Heyman. 'Welcome back.' he said. 'Anything wrong?'

'No, just need to use your Vigor Tester.' Heyman said as he moved further into the house. 'Doc Mitchell, this is Liam and Hullum and SPARTAN-B124.' He pointed at each in turn who said hello to the doctor, getting a greeting back. 'You don't mind, do you?'

'Not at all. After everything you've done to help Goodsprings, you can use whenever you want.'

'Thanks, Doc.'

The trio went into another room where a wooden faced machine stood next to the open doorway, a handle set into the front.

'It needs bare flesh to work.' Heyman said to Scott as he grasped the handle first. 'So you're gonna need to take a glove off.'

'Of course.' Scott said as the display on the Vigor Tester began to change, cycling through the seven characteristics Hullum had said.

Heyman's SPECIAL came out as Strength: 6, Perception: 7, Endurance: 4, Charisma: 8, Intelligence: 7, Agility: 8 and Luck: 7.

'Your turn.' He said to Hullum, smiling as though he had an advantage.

Hullum just smiled back as he took hold of the handle, his smile turning to a grin as everything went up to nine. 'Well look at that. I'm almost perfect.' He stepped away from the machine as Heyman's face fell. 'Your turn, Commander.'

Scott took Hullum's place and gently squeezed the metal handle, feeling a slight tingle come from it as the machine went to work. Unlike Hullum and Heyman, however, the machine began to rumble and groan as it tried to measure Scott's statistics.

'It's never done that before.' Doc Mitchell said from the door, backing away slowly as smoke started to drift from the casing.

'Maybe you should let go.' Hullum said.

There was a brief flash of light and the Vigor Tester let loose a final belch of smoke, falling silent as the display came to a halt.

'I think I should.' Scott said, taking his bare hand off the broken device. He looked at what the Vigor Tester was saying about his SPECIAL. It was stuck on strength, saying it was at ten. 'Sorry about that, Doctor.'

'Yeah.' Doc Mitchell said slowly as the Vigor Tester continued to leak black smoke as the stench of fried electrical components filled the air.

After a few seconds, Hullum said, 'Round one to the UNSC-BoS alliance. What's next?'

**Spartan-B124, El Dorado Dry Lake. 1039 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Heyman lay completely still as he aimed through the telescopic sight on his rifle, targeting a distant row of rocks half a kilometre away. He adjusted his aim and fired, striking one rock. He chambered the next bullet, taking his time to work the bolt.

'So, which one of us wants to do this one?' Hullum said to Scott as they leaned against the Warthog, watching Heyman as he hit the next one. 'You or me?'

'Can you hit things from five hundred metres with your rifle?' Scott said.

Hullum shrugged. 'Not with the Xuanlong. I'd be better with the Perforator or a scoped .44 pistol.' He looked at the battle rifle resting in the rear troop bay. 'What about you? Can you hit targets from half a klick away?'

'Easily.'

'Then you're up.' Hullum said, reaching over to get the scoped weapon. He passed it to Scott who checked over the gun, visually making sure the magazine was full and the scope was calibrated.

Heyman fired a third, fourth and fifth time, knocking down all the rocks. He stood and grinned. 'Next.'

Scott got up from the Hog and clamped the battle rifle to his back, jogging the five hundred metres in no time at all and had the rocks set back up just as quickly.

'Now your goal is to knock them all down, Commander.' Heyman said as Scott returned. 'Knock them all down, and we'll reset but further away. Okay?'

The Spartan didn't say anything as he lay down where Heyman had, switching the battle rifle from burst fire to single shot.

He activated the zoom on his rifle and brought the crosshairs to rest on the first rock then swept them over the others, getting his aim in. Behind Scott, Heyman pulled out a set of binoculars to observe his performance.

'Smoke him.' Hullum said next to him.

'Oh, feeling confident, are we?' Heyman said to his counterpart.

'Nope.' Hullum said.

Scott tuned them out, making sure he could traverse the gun barrel easily enough. He waited a scant second then fired five times in the space of two seconds, blowing over the rocks. He stood. 'Shall we reset?'

**Spartan-B124, El Dorado Dry Lake. 1103 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'I think you hurt his pride.' Hullum said as Heyman returned from setting up the rocks, now a full kilometre away from them.

They had placed them at seven hundred and fifty metres distant and it had produced another tie, making Heyman's smile vanish. A thin-lipped scowl took its place as he reloaded his rifle.

Scott shrugged. 'He was the one who wanted to do this.'

'I think he wanted to win, as well.'

Heyman snatched up his rifle from the ground and lay down with it, once more aiming through the scope at the rocks, now barely visible in the distance. Hullum brought up the binoculars while Scott activated the zoom on his helmet, watching as Heyman fired his five shots but only hit four rocks.

'Then he'll have to try harder.' Scott said as Heyman stood up.

'Start walking.' He said to the Spartan, fishing a cigarette from somewhere and lighting it.

Scott complied, returning to the firing line a few minutes later and lay flat on his stomach, battle rifle flush against his shoulder and resting on a rucksack. He zoomed in on the rocks as much as he could. The battle rifle wasn't designed to fire out as far as a kilometre with great accuracy, intended more for close range firefights than long range sniping. But in the hands of an expert, it could reach out and touch someone.

He went immobile, waiting for the perfect time to fire, adjusting his aim for the wind and taking into account the curving path the bullets would take as they flew towards their five targets, then gently pulled the trigger, expending five rounds to knock down five targets.

When the last rock was down, Scott stood up and walked to the Warthog. 'Where to now?'

**Spartan-B124, Red Rock Canyon. 1214 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The sun was high in the sky as Heyman directed Scott to a canyon to the far west of the Mojave Wasteland, the rocks a dusty red, and then to a circular arena set at one end of the canyon.

Scott parked up and turned the Hog off, allowing silence to descend on the three men as they got out and stretched.

'So what are we doing here?' Hullum asked, cracking his neck.

'Hand to hand combat.' Heyman said, leading them into the arena. 'Who wants to try it?'

'I will.' Hullum said before Scott could say anything. He handed the Spartan all his weapons and ammunition which Scott placed in the rear bay of the Hog, as he did for Heyman's equipment.

'I think they're going to try and kill each other.' Tara said in Scott's ear as Hullum and Heyman circled each other, fists raised.

The atmosphere on the journey to Red Rock had been tense. Heyman was not a gracious loser and Hullum's smile after Scott had gotten a perfect score in the shooting contest had only served to worsen his mood.

'I'll stop them before they do.' Scott said as he came to parade rest in the mouth of the arena, idly wondering if he should get the First Aid kit from the Warthog. Both men in the arena had murderous looks in their eyes.

'Last man standing wins.' Heyman said. 'Then we move on to the last part of the challenge.'

'Haven't we won already?' Tara asked. 'We're up two points to nothing. If he's only planning on doing four challenges, all Hullum has to do is win this one and we're good.'

'Unless Heyman is going to say the last challenge is worth four points.' Scott said. 'Then he has a chance at least to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.'

'Why do I get the feeling he's going to pull something stupid as the last one?' Tara said as Hullum and Heyman continued to square off against each other.

'Because he probably is.' Scott said.

'What's the matter?' Hullum said to his opponent. 'Not man enough to start us off?'

'I'm more man than-' Heyman began to say but was abruptly cut off by Hullum as he darted forward and slammed his fist into Heyman's nose, breaking it and whipping his head back. Blood spurted into the air then fell to the dirt as Heyman staggered back a little, giving Hullum an opening to launch his next attack.

Only it was a feint.

As Hullum lunged for him, Heyman grabbed hold of his combat armour and fell backwards, using his feet to propel the Capital Wasteland veteran over him and land with a loud thud, the impact throwing up dust.

Hullum recovered quickly, rising to his knees just in time to catch Heyman as he unleashed a powerful kick. It connected and Scott thought he heard a rib or two crack but if they did, Hullum paid them no notice as he wrapped both arms around Heyman's leg and didn't let go, using it to anchor Heyman and leave his groin wide open for a merciless strike.

Scott winced involuntarily as Heyman went rigid then toppled, hands caressing his crotch. Hullum let go of his leg and stood up, delivering a kick of his own into the downed man's ribs three times. As Hullum brought his leg back to kick him a fourth time, Heyman rolled away then scrambled upright, grabbing a fist of dust which he threw into Hullum's eyes, blinding the Knight and leaving him defenceless.

Heyman seized on the opportunity and ran forward, striking Hullum square in the chest with a palm strike, sending him sprawling into the dirt, winded. As he went down, Heyman roared and brought his boot hard down on Hullum's stomach.

'Ow.' Tara whispered. Scott nodded in agreement, fighting the urge to intervene as Heyman stomped on Hullum's stomach a second time.

'Had enough yet?' Heyman yelled at a slowly recovering Hullum.

'Fuck, man.' Hullum coughed, catching Heyman's boot as it came down a third time. 'I'm just getting warmed up.' He twisted the foot outwards, nearly breaking the ankle, and used it to drag Heyman down to his level.

Sweat covered both their faces, making the dust and dirt cling to them as they grappled, trading blow for blow, neither one being able to get the advantage but as time wore on, Scott saw that Heyman's efforts were starting to falter while Hullum continued to deliver the same ferociousness in his attacks, eventually straddling Heyman to rain down a series of punches, much like Sentinel Lyons had done to him over a week ago.

But unlike then, Heyman produced a switchblade from nowhere and popped the blade out, jamming it into Hullum's thigh.

Like the broken ribs, Hullum paid the new wound no attention and simply kept up his hail of blows.

In response, Heyman withdrew the blade and angled it to go through Hullum's fist as he brought it down, the tip entering just between the index and middle finger and exiting through the back of his hand.

This time, Hullum took notice, especially when he punched Heyman with the knife still in his fist, the blade sliding back just a little and aggravating the wound. He let out a pained howl, losing his focus as Heyman mustered his remaining strength and speed to yank the switchblade out, shove Hullum from him, and bring the knife up high, ready to bring it down in a killing blow.

But as he did, Scott blurred into motion and caught Heyman's wrist in a vice like grip, halting the knife.

'That's enough.' Scott said, increasing the pressure until Heyman dropped the weapon. 'Hullum, there's a First Aid kit in the back of the Warthog along with your medical supplies.' He let go of Heyman as Hullum got to his feet, nursing his wounded hand.

'I think I won that one.' Heyman said as he got up too, rubbing his wrist where Scott had grabbed it.

'You used a weapon.' Scott countered, levelling Heyman with a glare from behind his visor. 'In a hand to hand fight. You cheated.'

Heyman sniffed and wiped a trail of blood from his nose, winching as he probed the broken part. 'There were no rules, just like there aren't in the fight for survival.' He shot back. 'I was perfectly within my right to use a weapon, same as Hullum.'

'He handed over all his weapons.' Scott said. 'You didn't.'

'Because I'm not some fool like he is.' Heyman said, dusting himself down as Hullum injected himself with something, possibly a painkiller as his pained expression lessened. 'If you don't fight to live, you might as well save everyone else the trouble and kill yourself.'

'At least that fool isn't a self serving asshole.' Scott said as Heyman walked past. 'Hullum helps people because he wants to, not to protect an easily bruised ego like you do.' He turned to face Heyman as he came to a halt a few feet from the Spartan. 'That's the only reason you came up with this idea, to try and prove you're better than us.'

'Not that he has.' Hullum muttered from the Warthog. 'Trailing by two points so he had to resort to cheap tricks to win.' He shook his head. 'Easily bruised ego, indeed.'

'Oh, like you're any better.' Heyman said to Hullum. 'Enclave killed your dad so everyone in the organisation is evil, never once thinking that some of them can be against the ideals it stands for. Doesn't matter that five of them helped Vegas stay free of the Legion and NCR because the people they worked for killed Daddy dearest. And you,' He rounded on Scott, finger pointed straight at his head. 'Only putting up with me because you were ordered to. I bet your parents must have raised you to be a spineless coward, just like them. Too afraid to do what you want to do, letting some holier than thou knight do all the talking. Yeah, they must have been pussies.'

Scott's hands clenched into fists. If there was one thing that he and any other Spartan-III was sensitive about, it was their parents. 'My parents sacrificed themselves to save me.' he said quietly. 'Doing something you could never do.'

'Like die.' Heyman said. 'Because they were fools.' He jabbed a thumb at himself. 'I put me ahead of everyone else and so far, it's kept me breathing. And I plan on doing that for as long as is humanly possible.' He looked down and saw the Spartan's fists. 'Oh, I see I've touched a nerve there talking about your parents. Finally, something that can elicit an emotional response from you.'

'Yeah. Anger.' Hullum said, backing away slowly. 'You've just managed to piss off an incredibly strong and dangerous warrior who can make a deathclaw look like a cuddly toy moving in slow motion when he gets going. If I were you, Heyman, I'd stop taunting him and start running.'

'It's not like he's going to do anything.' Heyman said. 'This cowardly orphan is under orders to not hurt me. I can say what I want.' He smirked. 'I reckon he'd just stand there, even if I gave him permission to take a swing at me.'

'Wanna bet?' Hullum said.

'Sure, why not?' Heyman said, turning to glance at Hullum. 'Five thousand caps and 48 whole hours with Amy for the winner.'

'Sounds good to me.'

Heyman nodded. 'Alright, you pussy. Hit me with your best shot.' He spread his arms wide, taunting Scott to do just that.

He didn't. If he did, his fist would have smashed straight through Heyman's skull and out the other side. Instead, he used his left fist and scaled the power back a bit. It still connected with enough force to send Heyman flying backwards with a solid whump and knock him out but didn't kill him.

Hullum whistled. 'Wow. Now I get five thousand caps _and _I can screw his girl in any way I please. Thanks.'

'Just help me load him into the back.' Scott said, grabbing hold of Heyman's legs while Hullum grabbed his chest. They dumped him into the back amid his equipment and got into the front seats, setting off back to Vegas in silence.


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: ****I don't own Fallout or Halo. They belong to Bethesda and Bungie/Microsoft/343 Industries respectively.**

Chapter Twenty-Three

**Spartan-B124, interior of Lucky 38 Hotel and Casino, city of Las Vegas. 1609 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

Heyman said nothing as he, Scott and Hullum rode the elevator up to the Lucky 38's cocktail lounge, his face bloodied and bruised following his fight with Hullum and Scott's single punch.

They had gotten back to Camp McCarran within an hour where Hullum's hand had been seen to by a medic stationed there and Heyman was looked over too, his nose cleaned and set into a splint to prevent any further damage. He had woken up half an hour ago, his demeanour unchanged, and ordered Scott and Heyman to follow him to the Lucky 38 to speak with Mr House.

Scott and Hullum had complied, the Knight only going to collect his winnings following the bet he and Heyman had agreed upon.

As soon as the lift doors parted, Heyman stepped out and went to the bar, retrieving a bottle of Rum and Nuka from the counter, then led the two men over to the same seats they had sat around to discuss the deal only a few days ago. Hullum took a full bottle of Scotch with him and drank straight from it, not bothering with a glass.

'So, when do I get my caps?' Hullum asked once they were settled. 'And when can I spend some quality time with Amy?'

Heyman looked away from him, scowling. 'Soon enough.' He muttered, taking a long sip from his drink.

Hullum laughed softly. 'Guess you'll think twice about antagonising people now, huh? It could end up being very costly.' He laughed again when Heyman grunted. 'What about the challenge?'

'What about it?' Heyman said.

'Is it still on or are you going to drop it after your defeat today?'

Heyman scowl intensified. 'No, it's done.'

'Great.' Hullum said, smiling widely. 'When can I pick up my winnings for that?'

'Soon enough.'

The Knight grinned at Heyman who kept his attention on anything but Hullum and Scott.

'Ten thousand caps, something from your armoury and fifty plus hours with one of the sweetest pieces of ass I have ever seen.' Hullum said. 'Damn, do I love this place.' He turned to Scott. 'Don't you think so, Commander?'

'So long as we get the parts and supplies we need, yes.' Scott said.

'Provided you don't assault any more of my employees, you will.' House said, announcing his presence as a Securitron rolled over to the trio, the screen on its chest resolving to show House's face as he took control of the robot.

Scott turned to face him while Heyman swivelled his head around, showing House his broken nose and swollen forehead.

'It was nothing.' Heyman started to say. 'Just-'

'Another instance where your temper and ego got the better of you.' House said, interrupting his employee. 'Yes, that much is apparent. I must say, Leonard, that your knack for choosing fights with influential or dangerous opponents can be quite maddening at times, especially in times of war. Need I remind you that your _handling _of General Oliver is what caused our problems with the NCR in the first place? Had you just let him return a failure, they would have blamed him and Aaron Kimball for what happened.

'Provoking him into a fight, in front of his troops no less, did the opposite.' House continued. 'General Oliver could have been convinced to retreat peacefully and the NCR would have had no quarrel with us. But taunting and killing him has given them the justification to start a new campaign to pacify the Mojave and New Vegas.'

'He had it coming.' Heyman muttered. 'Oliver was a self assured idiot.'

Hullum snorted. 'So nothing like you, then.'

Heyman just shot him a glare.

'And the Legate Lanius didn't have it coming?' House continued. 'Your handling of him is the cause of our problems with the Legion.'

'Let me guess,' Hullum said. 'You didn't kill him.'

'No.' Heyman said, draining his bottle and throwing it behind him. It shattered and littered the floor with tiny glass shards that glinted dully in the mid afternoon sun. 'I didn't.'

'Leonard chose to talk the Legate down, convincing him that trying to hold the Mojave with their poor supply lines and inability to adequately sustain themselves would be the death knoll for the Legion.' House told Hullum and Scott, the slightest hint of exasperation in his otherwise calm and collected voice. Evidently, House didn't think too highly of Heyman's actions. 'As such, Lanius returned to Flagstaff and began preparations to capture the one blemish on his spotless, if not violent, record.'

'You know this how?' Scott asked.

'I have my sources, Lieutenant Commander, and I am not the only one keeping an eye on the Legion.' House said. 'The NCR is still very much concerned with them and have gone to great efforts to gather information about the Legion. I just happen to intercept those transmissions as they are made.' He turned back to Heyman. 'Which would be unnecessary if you had simply killed Lanius rather than Oliver.'

'I thought it would be funnier to watch the Legion crumble under his rule!' Heyman shot back. 'I never imagined Lanius would be able to rally it like he has.'

For the briefest of seconds, House said nothing as he stared at Heyman, nose covered by a splint and a massive bruise marring his tanned forehead. 'As I said before, Leonard. Your compulsion to choose fights with the leaders of influential factions can be maddening at times.' House eventually said before turning to Scott. 'You will still get your parts, despite this little incident. The security of New Vegas far outweighs a petty fight. So long as it doesn't happen again.'

Scott nodded. 'I understand.'

**UNSC Frigate **_**Heavy Hitter, **_**holding above the State of Nevada. 1800 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

'You did what?' McNeal almost shouted at Scott, the Spartan standing at rigid attention in front of him. McNeal had recalled Scott to the _Heavy Hitter _after he had compiled his daily report, the senior naval officer barely believing the section detailing the events in Red Rock Canyon.

'I struck Leonard Heyman and knocked him out, sir.' Scott said, staring at a fixed point on the wall behind McNeal as he sat at his desk.

'For Christ's sake, why?'

'He deliberately provoked and antagonised me, then gave permission to strike him.' Scott said, standing even straighter. 'I let my emotions cloud my judgement and acted upon them. That's no excuse, sir. My actions were out of line with UNSC regulations concerning interactions with civilians and allied forces. It won't happen again.'

McNeal sat back in his chair, regarding Scott. His view on Spartans was heavily influenced by what the UNSC allowed on news channels, which itself was heavily modified by Section Two of ONI, and up until the Battle of Leon, he had never met a Spartan up close before. He had thought of them as being dedicated and professional soldiers, carrying out their duties with robotic precision and efficiency. Automatons essentially, especially in their faceless armour. To see the person underneath it all, to see that there was a human being beneath half a ton of matte grey armour and blackened visor, was shocking enough.

That fact they could feel emotion was just as much of a shock, if not more.

'He antagonised you.' McNeal repeated, drawing out his response to try and make Scott feel uncomfortable. He had seen an ONI agent do it before to a suspected Insurrectionist sympathiser. The man had cracked with half an hour. If it disturbed Scott, he made no sign of it.

'Yes, sir.' He said. 'Knight Hullum and Tara can both attest to that, as can my mission recorders.'

'Why?'

'He didn't like losing, sir.' Scott began. 'Leonard Heyman approached myself and Knight Hullum at 0815 hours this morning and proposed a challenge between the three of us, which we accepted. The first two challenges were won by Knight Hullum and I, leaving Leonard Heyman in an unhappy mood which only worsened over time. He cheated during the third challenge, at which point I intervened and he began verbally assaulting myself and Knight Hullum. It was at this point that he found an issue that I was sensitive about and began taunting me with the intention of provoking me.

'I regret to say that he succeeded in his attempts.' Scott fell silent, still keeping his attention on the wall.

'What was the issue? If you don't mind me asking, that is.' McNeal said, breaking the silence.

'Sir?' Scott said, head fractionally looking down.

'What did Heyman say to make you punch him?'

Scott's head went back up. 'He mocked my parents, sir.'

For the second time that day, McNeal slowly repeated what Scott had said. 'He mocked your _parents_?'

'Yes, sir.' Scott shifted on his feet, almost imperceptibly, as he answered. 'They... They sacrificed themselves to save me when during a Covenant attack, allowing me to take their place on a retreating Pelican.'

'Oh.' McNeal said. 'I'm sorry for your loss.'

'Thank you, sir.' Scott said, dipping his head. 'It still doesn't excuse my actions. I let my emotions get the better of me and knocked a civilian out as a result.'

'I think we can make an exception in this case, Commander.' McNeal said, sitting up straight in his chair. 'From what you put in your report, Heyman did this out of spite and you only punched him once permission was given.'

Scott nodded. 'Of course, sir. It won't happen again.'

'Glad to hear it, Spartan.' McNeal said. 'You're dismissed.'

'Yes, sir.' Scott turned to go but stopped when Sasha suddenly appeared, her ghostly avatar floating a few centimetres over the holotank built into the desk.

'ODST Alpha Squad is under attack.' She calmly stated, powering up the screen on the wall to display a desert region somewhere below them.

A crumbling shack was in the centre of the screen, twelve FOF tags identifying the members or Alpha Squad and their current status clustered inside it, with dozens upon dozens of black dots surrounding and moved towards it. Some would stop, the soldier dead, but all kept up their march. To the far bottom right of the screen was a wide body of water.

Scott reacted first. 'Sasha, bring the ship into position directly above them and prime a SOEIV for immediate combat drop.' He ordered, already moving out of the room. 'Tara, alert Camp McCarran that we have friendly forces under fire and in need of assistance. Have them mobilise all Scorpion tanks and Hornet aircraft to provide support.'

Both AIs responded just as quickly as the other, the deck beneath Scott and McNeal's feet shifting as Sasha moved the frigate.

It was currently in extreme low orbit, just over a hundred miles from the ground. House hadn't wanted the ship to be anywhere New Vegas, stating that while the UNSC was there to deter the NCR Army was making a move for the city, they weren't there to scare the tourists away. A huge, unknown ship hanging above New Vegas or anywhere within the Mojave would do just that.

So against Scott's wishes to have the _Heavy _close by in case it was needed for air support, McNeal had placed it into low Earth orbit, keeping it out of sight and out of reach for any nuclear missiles that the NCR may have, something that he severely doubted they would have. But with his ship already damaged, he wasn't willing to risk suffering any more.

'Wait.' McNeal called out, getting up from behind his desk to follow Scott. 'You're going down there?'

'Yes, sir.' Scott said as he headed to the armoury. 'Camp McCarran will take over half an hour to get troops to Alpha's position. It would take me less than five minutes in a drop pod.' He ducked into the armoury, returning with his battle rifle and pistol, along with nearly two dozen magazines for each gun.

'Very well.' McNeal said. 'Give them hell, Spartan.'

**Spartan-B124**_**, **_**in combat drop to surface of Earth. 1812 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)**

The pod shook and rattled, making Scott's teeth rattle as he regulated his breathing and listened to the SQUADCOM of Alpha Squad.

'_God damn, Cooper, targets in the back.' _Mitchell barked amid the clatter of automatic gunfire and the characteristic triple burst of battle rifles. '_Joey, suppress those bastards to the north.'_

'_Got it, Gunny.' _Joey said.

'_I see them. Engaging targets.' _Cooper said as well. '_How's Franks?'_

'_He's doing better than Chang and Edwin.' _Leo said bitterly. '_That's for damn sure.'_

'_Don't worry, the Commander's on the way.' _Mitchell said, swearing at some unknown target. '_And we've got six Pelicans each bringing 66 tons of overkill to the fight as well. They'll get through it, Leo.'_

'Main chute deploying.' Tara announced a second before there was a violent bout of sudden deceleration, followed by an increase of speed as a sickening snap could be heard.

Even before Tara could say anything, Scott knew what had happened.

Human Entry Vehicles, shortened to HEV, also officially called Single Occupant Exoatmospheric Insertion Vehicles, were designed to deploy a single soldier into the battlefield in one of the most spectacular methods ever devised in human military history: by dropping them inside a metal pod from high orbit directly into a fight, their sudden appearance and spectacular landing causing the enemy panic and giving friendly forces a morale boost. They had been in service for well over thirty decades, serving ODST and Spartan personnel for the entire Human-Covenant war and for the foreseeable future.

The design wasn't without its drawbacks, however.

As they were dropped from orbit, the pods would undergo re-entry speeds and the inside would become unbearable hot, earning ODSTs the nickname Helljumpers.

Secondly, the HEV used two methods of slowing down to prevent the pod from simply crumpling into a crater on the ground. The first of these was a chute that deployed when the pod was just under three-thousand feet off the floor, followed by four braking rockets that kicked in fifty metres from the ground.

Of the two, the chute was the least reliable. ODSTs would refer to a chute failure as 'digging your own grave' as the backup chute was hardly enough to slow the speeding drop pod down.

'Fire the braking rockets.' Scott barked, tensing. 'Now.'

While a normal human would be killed on impact, Spartans could hypothetically survive but would be in no condition to fight. Scott had no intention of seeing whether or not he could survive a chute failure.

As the braking rockets engaged, he used what little manoeuvrability the HEV had to rotate it so he could glimpse the body of water near the shack Alpha was holed up in.

Scott's plan was to jump from the pod and to try and land inside the water. It wouldn't be a soft landing. He was falling at more than 180 metres per second, though that would quickly decrease once he left the HEV and could assume a spread eagle position to slow himself, and at that speed it would be like hitting solid ground but with a slightly higher chance of survival. Not a guarantee, just better odds of walking away.

Provided, of course, that the water was deep enough.

The pod settled on its new course and Scott primed the door, blasting it away with a bang that was soon lost in the howling winds.

Scott launched himself from the HEV, the falling craft rocketing away from him as his velocity slowed. He watched as it slammed into the ground below, the frame becoming unrecognisable, then focused back on his situation.

Using precision movements, he angled himself to be over the lake and brought up the option to overpressurise the hydrostatic gel in his MJOLNIR armour, a potentially risky move that could cause nitrogen embolisms but would raise his odds of living. Otherwise, his bones and organs would be crushed against the unyielding metal of the armour itself without the cushioning layer it provided.

When he was less than five seconds from touching down, Scott overrode the system and instantly felt like he was being stabbed by thousands of knives and needles, pain that was only comparable to the augmentations he had undergone as part of Project CHRYSANTHEMUM.

'Impact!' Tara yelled needlessly in Scott's ear as he landed. Every display on his HUD flashed red. His shield bar, health monitor and a myriad of other reports that tracked his and the suit's functions all fought for space to tell him what had gone wrong.

Scott felt his body touch the bottom of the lake, finally coming to an abrupt halt that sent fresh waves of pain coursing through his already battered body.

'Status.' He coughed, inhaling deeply and wincing. It felt like his entire chest was on fire and being torn apart.

'Massive internal organ damage.' Tara said, her voice panic stricken. 'Everything is bleeding to some degree, mostly your stomach and one kidney, while your right lung has been ruptured and is collapsing. Half your ribs are broken and your tibia and femur re cracked, too.'

The Spartan coughed again and began crawling along the lakebed, towards the shore. His shield bar continued to flash red. 'Shields?'

'Offline, Commander. I tried to divert power to keep them up the moment before your hit the water but it overloaded the generators so a system failsafe kicked in and shut them down.' She said, almost apologetically. 'The hydrostatic system blew a seal when we landed as well. It'll need to be replaced before you can run or sprint.'

'Anything else?' Scott hauled himself up out of the water and back into the baking sun of the nuclear wasteland that was Earth, instinctively reaching for his guns but they were gone, likely at the bottom of the lake.

'Just a few minor systems, nothing that can't be fixed or replaced.' Tara said. 'Communications are still operational.'

'Good.' Scott wheezed, coughing up blood. 'Tag Alpha's position.'

'Done.' A cool blue triangle appeared on his HUD, almost lost in the clutter of warnings but Scott managed to orientate himself on it.'

'Alpha Squad, this is...' Scott tried to say but coughed, struggling for breath. 'This is SPARTAN-B124. I am inbound from the south east.' He began heading to their location, managing only a sluggish limp as Legion soldiers moved to intercept him, only to fall down dead as Alpha Squad picked them off.

'_Yeah, we see you, sir.' _Mitchell said. '_You okay?'_

'No.' Scott threw a punch at a Legion member came at him with a knife. It connected with his head but didn't kill him. His strength was waning.

'_Understood. Leo, get ready to receive walking wounded.'_

Scott managed to make it into the shack, waving Leo off in favour of a can of biofoam. He inserted the tip into the relevant injection port on his armour and emptied the contents, the biting chill of the regenerative medical polymer made bearable by the sudden feeling of being able to breathe again.

'I need a weapon.' he said, holding a hand out.

Leo passed him Edwin's battle rifle and all the ammo the marksman had on him.

As soon as it was in Scott's possession, he went to work helping fend off the Legion but his capabilities had been greatly diminished following the hard landing. Every third or fourth shot would miss, or strike a non-vital area.

'Tara, when is air support getting here?' Scott said, now coughing up blood _and _biofoam. He needed proper medical attention. Fast.

'Ten minutes, Commander.' she said. 'I've already alerted the _Heavy _that you're injured and they have medical crews on standby to work on you and Troopers Edwin, Franks and Chang once we're onboard. You just have to hold out.'

He nodded. Ten minutes wasn't too long but with limited ammunition and four wounded soldiers, all of them in need of critical medical attention, it would seem like a lifetime.


End file.
